



Psychology for Teachers 



C. Lloyd Morgan 




Class I- o - ■■ 

Book J^ 



PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 



PSYCHOLOGY 



FOR 



TEACHERS 



By C. LLOYD MORGAN 

PRINCIPAL OF UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, BRISTOL 



WITH A PREFACE BY 

HENRY W. JAMESON 

ASSOOATE SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, NEW YORK CITY 



) ' J' ) 3 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1899 



a 



CONTENTS. 



CHAP. PAGE 

I. STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 1 

II. ASSOCIATION 23 

III. EXPERIENCE 47 

IV. PERCEPTION 69 

V. ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 93 

VI. DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 115 

VIL MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 138 

VIII. LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT,. 160 

IX. LITERATURE ."" 185 

X. CHARACTER AND CONDUCT ' 210 

NOTES 233 

INDEX 237 



PREFACE 



The present volume was written to meet the re- 
quirements of those who came to the author to receive 
aid in preparing themselves for the profession of 
teaching ; and the warm reception accorded it by 
teachers, both in England and in this country, proves 
that its publication has done much to popularize the 
study of Educational Psychology. 

In the treatment of the subject, no topic has been 
touched upon which has not been illustrated ade- 
quately by facts taken from experience ; and the whole 
trend of the work is toward the cultivation of right 
methods of instruction. There appears to have been 
ever present in the author's mind a desire to furnish 
aid to teachers in all matters relating to their pro- 
fessional work. In short, it would be difficult to 
overstate the practical value of the book, since it 
deals with the problems of school life in a manner 
calculated to develop interest and arouse enthusiasm. 
Although in no sense a compendium of the subject, 
it possesses the merit of stimulating thoughtful and 
correct views in regard to education ; and no better 
basis could be furnished for the discussion of the 
theory and practice of teaching than that which is 
herein set forth. 

The value of a thorough pedagogical training for 

vii 



yiii PREFACE 

those preparing to become teachers has received 
general recognition during recent years. The im- 
proved equipment possessed by those now entering 
upon their labors has excited the attention of older 
teachers. The result has been a desire on the part of 
those who have been long in service to do something 
to compensate for former deficiencies in theoretical 
training and so enable them to compete successfully 
with younger members of the profession. In re- 
sponse to the higher demands made upon teachers, 
within a few years departments of pedagogy have 
been established in our universities and colleges ; and 
Summer Schools for the training of teachers have 
grown in popularity, since they afford opportunity 
for receiving such aid and suggestion in regard to 
practical teaching as are calculated to improve the 
character of class instruction. 

Psychology has always been recognized as a most 
valuable disciplinary study ; but it has remained for 
the students of pedagogy to show the importance of 
its bearing upon educational problems. 

To be really serviceable to teachers in elementary 
schools, a work upon practical psychology requires 
for its author one who possesses a thorough famil- 
iarity with the difficulties involved in the instruction 
of young children. From no other source can the 
teacher expect such aid as is required. The charm 
of the present treatise lies in the naturalness of the 
presentation, and the perfect accord between the sub- 
ject-matter and the method. The student is pro- 
vided Avith the proper bases of instruction and the 
best methods of teaching — each and all in strict 
harmony with the laws of mental growth. 



PREFACE ix 

Every earnest teacher must have been assailed by 
doubts as to the best methods to be adopted in special 
cases. While no work on the theory of teaching will 
suffice to meet every requirement, there is still a defi- 
nite gain to be derived from a consideration of the 
course followed by people similarly situated. It is 
far better that one should thus take advantage of the 
experience of others, than that he should rely wholly 
upon his own efforts. An undue amount of harm 
may be the portion of those entrusted to our care, in 
case we reject the aid of others. The teacher who 
has had no advantages in the way of assistance and 
advice, when such services would have been most 
welcome, may well feel a sense of gratification when 
he finds that the methods he has followed for years 
are defended as being thoroughly in accord with the 
accepted psychological theories of the day. 

The scope of the treatment is such as to commend it- 
self to the student. While the author bestows due care 
upon the explanation of terms employed, so that no 
doubt may exist as to the meaning which he desires 
to attach to each, his chief motive is not to teach 
psychology. Mental processes are viewed in the light 
of the aid they afford to teaching, and due con- 
sideration is given to the kind and amount of effort 
required by the pupil while acquiring knowledge. 
The chapters upon Association and Experience con- 
tain a large amount of '^ food for reflection ^^ and 
deserve the most careful study. The ideal attitude 
of pupil and teacher toward each other is developed 
incidentally and upon the highest moral grounds. 
We cannot fail to appreciate most highly the qualities 
of one who advises that over the lintel of every 



X PREFACE 

school should be engraved the precept : '^ Establish 
a background of sympathy." The perfect assimilation 
of such a sentiment by the great army of teachers, 
would result in the introduction of a highly civiliz- 
ing influence into the schoolroom. 

Throughout the book we find allusions to the various 
educational movements of the day. From certain 
statements it may be fairly assumed that the author 
is an advocate of Manual Training in Elementary 
Schools ; that he would give unqualified support to 
Nature Study in its various forms ; and that he 
would regard well-regulated exercises in Physical 
Culture as a necessary part of a school curriculum. 
To an American student of pedagogy, it is interest- 
ing to note the opinions of educational writers on 
the other side of the Atlantic. A thorough com- 
parison of different systems of instruction cannot be 
undertaken by fair-minded men without being pro- 
ductive of benefit. 

When considering the special purpose of a work 
like the one before us, it does not appear appropriate 
to comment upon the philosophical views of the 
author. That he has felt the influence of the asso- 
ciationalism of his nation may be regarded as a fort- 
unate circumstance, since the educational world owes 
a great debt of gratitude to the school whose chief 
representative has given such earnest attention to the 
physical, mental, and moral education of children. 

In order that the greatest amount of benefit may be 
derived from a study of '' Psychology for Teachers," 
the student would do well to make constant reference 
to some good work on the elements of psychology. 

About two years ago, it was my good fortune to 



PREFACE 



XI 



find a copy of '' Psychology for Teachers'' upon the 
shelves of one of the leading booksellers of this city. 
After a careful examination, it proved to be the book 
needed to meet the requirements of a class conducted 
under the auspices of *' The New York Society of 
Pedagogy/' and was therefore selected for that pur- 
pose. The discussion of the matter contained in the 
volume proved satisfactory to more than two hundred 
teachers. In view of my high appreciation of the 
book resulting from this practical test of its excel- 
lences, I have accepted with pleasure the request of 
the American publishers to prepare the Preface for 
a new edition. 

Heney W. Jameson. 

New York City, 
JunCf 1898, 



PSYCHOLOGY FOE TEACHEES 



CHAPTER I. 

STATES OF COIS'SCIOUSNESS. 

I WOULD ask you, reader, to try and recall what has 
passed through your mind during the last five or six 
minutes. You will probably have some diflBculty in 
doing so. You have not, you will say, been think- 
ing of anything in particular. But, unless you have 
been asleep or in a trance, something was passing 
through your mind ; little perhaps that was definite, 
but much that was indefinite. 

Now vary the observation. Look round the room 
in which you are sitting. Let your eyes range from 
object to object for a minute or two, and then con- 
sider what has been passing through your mind. 
You have seen, perhaps, in succession the clock, the 
fireplace, the arm-chair, the table, a vase of flowers, 
this picture, that print or photograph, and so on. 
Some of these may have reminded you of past experi- 
ences — the print of the picture from which it has 
been engraved and where you first saw it ; the flowers 
of the wood in which you picked them and of the 



2 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

companion who was with you. The clock may have 
brought to mind an appointment you have to keep ; 
the fireplace, that a little judicious use of the poker 
may be advisable. Again vary the observation. Run 
over in memory the events of your last holidays, 
where you went, what you did, whom you met ; and 
then once more consider what has been passing 
through your mind. 

All the time you are making these elementary ob- 
servations you are conscious. That which is in your 
mind at any moment is a state of consciousness j 
during the few minutes occupied by your observa- 
tions there was a series or sequence of states of con- 
sciousness ; and such states of consciousness are pass- 
ing through your mind all day long. Psycliology is 
the study of the nature, mode of origin, and manner 
of sequence of these states of conscious7iess. You 
alone of all the world can say what was the nature 
and what the sequence of your states of conscious- 
ness ; and they are the only states of consciousness 
with which you can become directly acquainted. 
Hence, if you would learn anything of psychology, 
you must carefully examine your own mind and the 
nature of your own experience. Such examination 
is called introspection. But by means of language 
you can compare notes with your neighbors ; and 
by the same means I can communicate to you, 
through the printed page, the results of my own 
study. Moreover, by other signs we can learn some- 
thing of what is passing through the minds of our 
companions. But we can only interpret the language 
and the actions of others in terms of our own states 
of consciousness. If I say that I have seen an ox. 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 3 

you understand me because you have seen many oxen. 
If I say that I have been examining the heart of a 
crayfish, you may not understand me, or very imper- 
fectly ; you have probably never seen one, and there- 
fore cannot interpret my words in terms of your own 
experience. We must always remember how limited 
is the experience of children, how difficult it must be 
for them to interpret much that we say to them, and 
how • apt they are through imagination to form false 
ideas very difficult to correct. 

Now, states of consciousness are exceedingly com- 
plex — that is to say, a number of things may be in 
one^s mind at once in any moment of consciousness. 
It is therefore necessary to analyze our states of con- 
sciousnesss so as to ascertain the elements of which 
they are made up. Let us suppose that we are look- 
ing at the picture on the wall. There it is in what 
we may call the focus of vision. But it suggests cer- 
tain thoughts which are also present to consciousness. 
And thus we see dimly the wall on which it hangs, 
and much besides in what we may call the margin of 
vision. Realize for yourself by actual observation 
how much you do see indistinctly in this way. Fur- 
thermore, though we may pay little attention to them, 
there are other things present in what we may term 
the margin of consciousness, sounds such as the tick- 
ing of the clock and the flicker of the fire-flame, scents 
such as that of the flowers in the vase, pressures from 
the position of the body, and that general feeling 
which we call either freshness or fatigue. We are 
apt to consider only that on which our attention is 
specially fixed — that which is in ihQ focus of conscious- 
ness, and to neglect the other elements which lie in 



4 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the margin of consciousness. And I would again 
urge 3'ou to realize for yourself, by actual observation, 
without which we can do nothing of value in psychol- 
ogy, how much there is in the margin of conscious- 
ness of which you are not fully conscious, but merely 
subconscious. 

The first result of our anal3^sis of a state of con- 
sciousness is therefore the distinction between what 
is focal and what is merely marginal. It is the focal 
element to which we attend ; indeed, we may say that 
attention is the clear, accurate, and decisive focussing 
of the central element in consciousness ; or, otherwise 
stated, that attention differentiates the focus from 
the margin. In children this differentiation is prob- 
ably less perfect, less rapid, and less under control 
than in older people. We must be ready to make 
allowances for them in this respect. The power of 
bringing out the focus to the neglect of the margin 
is a valuable gift. It varies a good deal in different 
individuals. Some people can read a book and follow 
a difficult train of reasoning amid a buzz of conversa- 
tion, or in spite of the distraction of a street band. 
With others the influence of the margin is more dis- 
turbing, and the attention is easily distracted. On 
the other hand, the observant person is one in whom 
occurrences in the margin of consciousness can 
rapidly and readily be made focal. For example, a 
naturalist, when he is out for a walk with you, catches 
a hundred sights and sounds which for you remain 
unnoticed. A mouse in the grass, an insect on yon- 
der flower, the note of a rare bird, have caught his 
observant eye and ear, while yours have been blind 
and deaf to these sights and sounds. This, too, is 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 5 

a valuable gift. Fortunate is he who can both focus 
rapidly and clearly, and yet retains a sensitive margin 
in the field of consciousness. We should there- 
fore encourage the cultivation of both these gifts 
in those in whose mental development we are inter- 
ested. 

Let us now consider the focal elements in con- 
sciousness, and see what they are, and how they are 
brought to the focus. 

As I look out of window, my eye falls on a distant 
church-spire, which stands out clear-cut against a 
background of blue sky. So long as I fix my eyes 
upon it, that spire is in the focus of consciousness. 
It forms a sensory im2Jressio7i. As we look about 
from object to object, we have a great number of 
visual impressions of this kind which are brought to 
the focus by stimuli which affect the retinas of our 
eyes. While I am looking at the church-spire, how- 
ever, I hear the chirping of sparrows. At first this 
is only marginal in consciousness, but presently I 
cease to attend to the church-spire and listen atten- 
tively. The notes of the sparrows are then focal to 
my consciousness as auditory impressions. In like 
manner I may have olfactory impressions, or impres- 
sions of smell, if I attend to the scent of the flowers 
in my room ; gustatory impressions, or impressions 
of taste, if I sip a sweet or bitter liquid ; impres- 
sions of touch, if a fly settles on my hand or fore- 
head ; impressions of warmth or of cold, if I dip 
my hands in hot or cold water. Forgive the itera- 
tion of the first personal pronoun ; I am anxious to 
enforce that observation must he personal and in- 
dividual. 



6 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

These are impressions of the special senses. All of 
them are due to stimuli coming from outside our 
bodies and affecting special parts of our delicate bodily 
organization — the eye, ear, nose, palate, or skin. Ee- 
member that we are using the term impression for 
that which, through the instrumentality of these 
stimuli, is brought to the focus of consciousness. A 
vast number of stimuli are constantly affecting us, 
often through several sense-organs, or it may be 
through all the sense-organs at the same time. Of 
these, some predominate over the others and give rise 
to the focal impressions ; the rest, which are subor- 
dinate, give rise to the marginal elements in con- 
sciousness. But any of these subordinate groups of 
stimula may attract the attention, and thus become 
predominant and give rise to impressions. As I look 
at the church spire, for example, a particularly vigor- 
ous and chirpy sparrow may draw my attention so as 
to make his note focal. Or a whiff of scent from the 
flowers may lead me to snuff the air and try to deter- 
mine whether it is the lilac or the mignonette which 
chiefly perfumes my room. 

Such impressions form a large part of the raw 
material of consciousness. There are, however, other 
impressions, less conspicuous and familiar, but of 
considerable importance in our daily life. Close 
your eyes and slowly move 3^our head from side to 
side, turning it on the axis of your neck, and care- 
fully attend to what you feel. You feel perhaps the 
rubbing of the skin of your neck against your collar ; 
you feel, too, movements in your neck ; but you feel 
also a curious sensation in your head which, if you 
continue the movements, appears to be akin to dizzi- 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 7 

nese. There is, associated with the organ of hearing, 
but independent of that sense, a delicate piece of 
apparatus which makes us acquainted with changes 
in direction of the movements of our head or our 
body as a whole. This it is which probably gives us 
the sensation above alluded to. Most of us are un- 
aware of its existence, though it probably is of use 
to us in our active life. The effects of the stimuli 
from this organ are for the most part marginal or 
subconscious, and we seldom attend to them so as to 
bring them to the focus of consciousness. For many 
animals they are probably of more importance than 
they are for us. We may call these wipressions of 
direction ; but we must remember that we seldom 
focus them as impressions. They generally take 
their place unnoticed in the margin of conscious- 
ness. 

Now make some further experiments and observa- 
tions, so that you may assure yourself of the reality 
of motor impressions — that is to say, impressions of 
the movements of your limbs. Look at the clock- 
face or any other particular object ; shut your eyes ; 
and, not too hurriedly, point your finger at the ob- 
ject. Do this twice or thrice, still with your eyes 
shut, and note your states of consciousness. You 
will, I think, notice two things. First, you picture 
to yourself, though you do not see, the movements 
of your hand and arm : this we may neglect for the 
present. Secondly, you feel pretty clearly the move- 
ments of and in the limb as you bring it into posi- 
tion. Stimuli from the joints, skin, muscles, and so 
forth, give rise, when you pay special attention to 
them, to motor impressions. It is possible that you 



8 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

have never had occasion to pay attention to these 
before. They have remained for the most part as 
marginal elements in your consciousness. I am 
desirous that you should fully realize that such motor 
feelings are elements in consciousness. Draw a 
circle in the air or on the blackboard with your eyes 
shut : you will feel with surprising distinctness all 
the movements of your arm. You will also draw 
nearly as good a circle as you could with your eyes 
open. Walk about the room : every change of posi- 
tion of your legs is felt. Let your eyes wander from 
object to object and pay attention to their move- 
ments in the sockets : a little practice will enable 
you to feel them quite clearly. Now hold up a pen- 
cil or penholder about eight inches from your face 
and in the line of vision of the picture on the far 
wall. Alternately fix your eyes on the end of the 
pencil and on the picture, and attend to the feelings 
in and round your eyes. Do you not feel quite 
plainly your eyes going, so to speak, from the one 
to the other ? The eyes have to be accommo- 
dated first for near vision, then for far ; and when 
you attend to the matter, you focus in consciousness 
these motor impressions of accommodation. Gener- 
ally, however, these elements in consciousness are 
merely marginal and subconscious. 

There is one more group of impressions for us to 
take note of. They are due to stimuli from the 
internal organs and from parts at some little dis- 
tance beneath the skin. Lay your finger lightly on 
your neck : you have an impression of touch on the 
skin of the neck. Now press with increasing vigor : 
you are conscious of an impression from the deeper 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 9 

parts of the neck, probably accompanied by incip- 
ient pain. This impression is quite different from 
that of touch, and, though it may originate in the 
muscles, is quite diiferent also from a motor impres- 
sion. Hunger, thirst, fatigue are probably of this 
kind. We need not linger over these internal im- 
pressions — generally due to pressures, strains, or 
some unwonted condition of the parts concerned ; 
but we may notice that they are generally suffused 
with pleasure, or, more frequently, with pain or 
discomfort. 

Let us now sum up what we have learnt concern- 
ing impressions. They originate from stimuli affect- 
ing parts of our bodies ; and they occupy the focus 
of consciousness. They may be either — 

1. Impressions of the special senses— sight, hear- 

ing, taste, smell, touch, heat, cold, or direc- 
tion of movements of the head ; 

2. Motor impressions ; or — 

3. Internal impressions, such as pressures, strains, 

hunger, thirst, fatigue. 

When the stimuli which may give rise to impres- 
sions are subordinate to other more powerful stimuli, 
they give rise to marginal elements of which we are 
not clearly and distinctly conscious, but are only in- 
distinctly subconscious. The impressions and the 
marginal elements, alike due to stimuli, are, how- 
ever, similar in their nature, and differ only in the 
fact that whereas the impressions are clear and focal, 
the marginal elements are indistinct and subcon- 
scious. 

In our adult years a great deal of the business of 
life is transacted in the marginal or subconscious 



10 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

region. In matters of skill, for example, though the 
acquisition and perfecting of control over our bodily 
activities is focal and demands attention, yet when 
the skill has been acquired and is well established, 
the subsequent performance of the activities is to 
a large extent relegated to the margin. AVe learn to 
walk, to run, to knit, to play the piano, to ride a 
bicycle ; and the learning requires constant focal at- 
tention. But when the skilful performance of these 
actions has by practice become perfect, we may do 
any of these things, and do them well, while the focus 
of consciousness is occupied with other impressions. 
The peasant woman knits and walks ; but in the focus 
of her consciousness is yonder fair-haired girl whom 
the stalwart young fellow is, quite unnecessarily, help- 
ing over the stile. The pianist^s fingers are running 
softly over the keys ; but his eyes and thought are 
fixed on his mother's portrait. The cyclist bowls 
along the road ; but it is the delicately-shaded green- 
ery of the spring that holds his attention. And in 
these cases the actions are not performed uncon- 
sciously, but subconsciously. The cyclist guides his 
machine, avoids stones in the road, and adjusts his 
output of energy to the gradient, in response to 
stimuli coming from without. But the skill he has 
been at the pains of acquiring has become so far a 
haMt that it no longer requires his focal attention. 
Marginal awareness suffices for the guidance and con- 
trol of his machine. This again is a matter in which 
I would beg you, reader, to exercise self-observation. 
Only by doing so will you fully realize how much goes 
on in the margin of your consciousness. And not 
only is this true of our active life ; it is true also of 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 11 

our thought. Who does not know, from personal 
experience, that, perhaps even during a sermon, there 
are undercurrents of thought ? It is indeed only 
during the most concentrated attention, if even then, 
that the undercurrents are wholly absent. In ordi- 
nary attention all that we do is to keep these under- 
currents duly subordinate. 

Sometimes we have to divide our attention, and 
hold two series of impressions, or two parts of the 
same series in the focus. Thus, we may read a book 
and listen to a piece of music or a conversation. 
Such divided attention is generally rather a strain, 
and we get the best neither out of the book nor the 
music. A familiar instance of attending to two parts 
of a series at the same time is afforded when we are 
taking notes of a lecture. We are at the same time 
putting down the notes of what the lecturer has just 
said and listening to what he is saying. I lately 
watched a student thus taking notes. It was curious 
to observe how far his pencil was behind the spoken 
words, but he got quite correctly the gist of all the 
lecturer said. 

To resume. Impressions and the marginal elements 
due to stimuli form the raw material of conscious- 
ness. It must be remembered that the state of 
consciousness of which we have practical experi- 
ence in any moment of our waking lives comprises, 
besides the impression in the focus, all that is 
contained in the margin of consciousness. Focus 
and margin cons]Dire to form the state of con- 
sciousness ; and it is only by analyzing the state of 
consciousness that we distinguish the focus from the 
margin. 



12 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

We must now pass on to consider what else, other 
than an impression, may occupy the focus of con- 
sciousness. 

When we are sitting quietly and are recalling the 
sights and sounds and scents of a pleasant walk in 
the country, our minds are dealing, not with present 
impressions, but with the revivals in memory of past 
impressions. Such revivals are termed ideas, or, to 
particularize them more accurately, sense-ideas. The 
images that float before the mind's eye, the recollected 
notes of the nightingale, or the perfume of May 
blossoms, are examples of sense-ideas. They are not 
due to stimuli coming from without, but arise through 
suggestion in ways which will be considered in the 
next chapter. But though they do not directly owe 
their origin to external stimuli, they do so indirectly ; 
for, in the absence of visual impressions of trees and 
fields and hedgerows, we could have no images of any 
of these things as sense-ideas. And so with other 
forms of sense-experience. It is clear that if we 
have never heard the notes of a nightingale, we can- 
not recall these notes as sense-ideas. Impressions, 
then, are matters of direct experience ; the sense- 
ideas which represent them are like the echoes of 
this experience. Hence we say that impressions are 
presentative, and the corresponding sense-ideas re- 
presentative. Many of our words are presentative 
signs or symbols which suggest re-presentative ideas. 
We have, for example, an impression of an animal 
for which, we are told, the name-sign is '' sheep." 
Afterwards the presentative word ^^ sheep" suggests 
a re-presentative idea of the animal. The re-presen- 
tative idea is, however, entirely dependent upon our 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 13 

actual presentative experience of sheep. There can 
be no sense-ideas without previous sense-impressions. 
"We must never forget this when we are teaching 
young children. The range of their sense-ideas is 
limited to the range of their direct experience. 
Words for objects of which they have no direct ex- 
perience are little more than mere sounds. 

The classification of sense-ideas precisely corre- 
sponds to the classification of the impressions of 
which they are the re-presentative echoes. Thus we 
may have ideas of the special senses, motor ideas, 
and ideas which re-present the internal impressions. 
But the several kinds of sense-ideas vary a good deal 
in clearness and definiteness ; and different individ- 
uals differ not a little in their power of clearly re-pre- 
senting their sensory experience. Some of us visual- 
ize clearly. I can visualize distinctly anything of 
which I have recently had a definite, clear-cut, visual 
impression. I have also tolerably clear auditory 
ideas. I can re-presentatively hear the notes of a 
violin, or French horn, or piccolo. My ideas of touch- 
impressions are rather vague ; and my ideas of taste 
and smell are not at all definite. If I try and recall 
the taste of an orange, a pineapple, an acidulated 
drop, they are by no means clearly distinguishable. 
On the other hand, my ideas re-presentative of the 
impressions of direction of rotation are much more 
definite, perhaps because I have experimented with 
myself a good deal in this matter. I would ask the 
reader to exercise some self-observation, and ascer- 
tain what his own powers are — how far, for example, 
he is able to form an idea of the taste of shrimps at 
all comparable to his visual idea of this succulent 



14 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

animal. So too with regard to motor ideas. My own 
motor ideas are remarkably distinct. I can re-present 
to myself quite clearly any of the familiar movements 
of my limbs ; if, for example, I think of the movements 
necessary to carry my hand to the back of my neck, I 
feel them re-presentatively far more clearly than I can 
re-present to myself the smell of a rose. The ideas 
which correspond to internal impressions are very 
vague, and to a large extent are emptied of the pleas- 
urable or painful accompaniment which character- 
izes the impressions themselves. 

We must remember that the idea, as such, occupies 
the focus of consciousness. In this respect it is pre- 
cisely analogous to the impression. And just as there 
may be a large body of presentative elements in the 
margin of consciousness, so too may there be a large 
body of re-presentative elements in the margin of 
consciousness. As we recall the events of our pleas- 
ant country walk, there are (1) the sense-ideas in the 
focus of consciousness ; (2) a good deal of re-pre- 
sentative margin, forming the background of the 
ideas ; and (3) a certain amount of presentative mar- 
gin, due to the stimuli which are affecting our special 
senses, the sounds, scents, touches, and so forth, to- 
gether with motor elements due to the positions of 
our limbs and pressures from our attitude. Neglect- 
ing these presentative elements in the margin, it 
would seem that the focal ideas are not so clearly 
marked off from the re-presentative elements in the 
margin of consciousness as is the case with impressions. 
Indeed, in certain states of reverie, our consciousness 
seems all margin, without anything definite in the 
focus. Our day-dream is peopled with shadowy 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 16 

phantoms which dimly flit across the scene with de- 
lightful inexactness of outline. 

There is one more point to notice about sense-ideas, 
and it helps to show why they are often less clear-cut 
than the impressions of which they are re-presenta- 
tive. The impressions are always of particular ob- 
jects. If we let our eyes range over a flock of sheep, 
each individual sheep may come to the focus as an 
impression. But if, as we sit at home, we recall 
our exi^eriences in the field, what we visualize is not 
any particular sheep, but what is common to a num- 
ber of individuals. We can indeed visualize either a 
white sheep or a black sheep ; but neither of them 
has that perfectly clear-cut individuality which the 
impression of a sheep would have. Just as the word 
" sheep " is a common noun, or a name common to 
a number of individuals, so is my idea of a sheep a 
common, or, to employ the technical term, a generic 
idea. Hence what we visualize most clearly is the 
particular object or person. I can visualize quite 
distinctly the cottage in which I lived at the Cape, 
with its convolvulus-covered stoep or verandah, the 
pear tree in front of it, and the cliffs of Table Moun- 
tain which rose at some distance behind it. All of 
this is particular. But I cannot visualize in the 
same way '^ cottage,^' because I have seen so many 
cottages. Thus, the impression is aliuays particu- 
lar ; hut the sense-idea may he either particular or 
generic. 

So far as our analysis of states of consciousness 
has at present carried us, we may have, in the focus, 
impressions or their corresponding ideas ; and, in 
the margin, presentative elements due to subordinate 



16 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

stimuli, and the corresponding re-presentative ele- 
ments. Let us now proceed a step farther. There 
lies before me a stick of sealing-wax, which gives 
rise to a visual impression as I look at it. And close 
by it there lies a penwiper. As I look from one to 
the other, I am struck by the fact that the color of 
the wax is the same as the color of the penwiper. 
In the act of perceiving the similarity of the color, 
this particular element in the impressions becomes 
predominant, to the subordination of other elements. 
On my desk there lies also a book bound in red ; but 
the color is deep and full, and I perceive that it 
differs from the vermilion-red of the sealing-wax, 
and from that of the piece of blotting-paper on which 
my manuscript rests. Now, in such cases we perceive 
the similarity or the dissimilarity of the colors. 
What we thus perceive is called a relation. We per- 
ceive the color-relations of certain visual impressions. 
These relations are not impressions of the same kind 
as those we have so far considered. The impressions 
of sense are due, as we have seen, to stimuli ; but 
we know nothing of any stimuli which give rise to 
the feeling or consciousness of relation. And yet 
this feeling is one that is quite distinct. We know 
that the darker red is due to stimuli of a particular 
kind, and that the lighter red is due to stimuli of a 
slightly different kind. The related reds are thus 
both parts of sense-impressions ; but the relation it- 
self is not, so far as we know, due to stimuli. It 
seems to take its origin in the transition of conscious- 
ness from the darker red to the lighter red. But 
since the transition is between impressions due to 
stimuli, we may conveniently widen our definition of 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 17 

impressions so as to include these transitions — term- 
ing them impressions of relation. And we may speak 
of a relation as presentative when it is perceived to 
hold good between two presentative impressions ; and 
as re-presentative, or an idea of relation, when we think 
of the relation between two sense-ideas, or between a 
sense-impression and a sense-idea. We may have, 
for example, sense-ideas of the deep green of the 
Scotch fir and of the tender green of the budding 
larch, and may then perceive their relationship, and 
thus have an idea of relation, which is the transition 
in consciousness, not between presentative impres- 
sions, but between re-presentative ideas. 

It need scarcely be said that it is not only of colors, 
the example here chosen for purposes of illustration, 
that relations hold good. We perceive the relations 
of scents, of sounds, of tastes, of touches, of pressures, 
of changes in the amount and direction of movement. 
We perceive relations of size, of weight, of intensity, 
of temperature, of hardness. It is not too much to 
say that all our thought and all our intellectual 
knowledge are dependent upon the j9ercejt?^i0?i of 
relations; and that for us the transitions in con- 
sciousness from impression to impression, and from 
sense-idea to sense-idea, are quite as important as the 
sense-impressions and sense-ideas themselves. 

We must learn to distinguish carefully between 
sense-experience or sensation and perception. The 
term "sensation" is rather a puzzling one in psy- 
chology. We may altogether exclude the popular 
use of the word, when we say, for example, that a 
book or an actor has created a sersation. First, 
then, the word "sensation" is used in psychology 

2 



18 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

as a general name for the faculty (by which we mean 
any special mode of the exercise of consciousness) of 
experiencing impressions or ideas of sense. We shall 
employ the term '* sense-experience " for the ex- 
perience gained through sensation. We need, how- 
ever, a verb to answer to sensation, as the verb 
''perceive" answers to perception. I shall use the 
verb *' to sense " for this purpose. So far, the term 
''sensation" does not present any great difficulty. 
But the results of the analysis of impressions are 
spoken of as " sensations." Thus we say that an 
impression of sight is due to a number of visual 
sensations ; and we speak of sensations of touch, and 
of motor sensations. Often the words " impression " 
and " sensation " are used as synonymous. Thus we 
speak either of an impression of sound or smell, or 
of a sensation of sound or smell ; either of a motor 
impression, or of a motor sensation. In such cases 
we are unable to analyze the impression into distin- 
guishable sensations ; or, in other words, the im- 
pression is a homogeneous sensation, whereas in the 
visual impression we may have of an apple there are 
a number of distinguishable sensations of red, green, 
and so forth. It will be noted that the word " sensa- 
tion," as a general term for the sensing of impres- 
sions, cannot be used in the plural, or with the 
indefinite article ; but we speak of " a sensation" or 
"sensations" when we refer to those elementary 
factors of impressions of sense which are disclosed by 
psychological analysis. 

Sensation and sense-experience, then, deal luitli im- 
pressions and ideas of sense ; ivJiile perception in- 
troduces us to tohat have been termed impressions 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 19 

mid ideas of relatio?i. We may now proceed a step 
farther. 

Looking at the sealing-wax and the penwiper, I 
again perceive the similarity of color, and, glancing 
up at my shelves, I see, here and there, books the 
bindings of which present just the same vermilion 
color. Now, leaning back in my chair with closed 
eyes, I cause visual ideas of the sealing-wax, the pen- 
wiper, and the books to pass before my mind^s eye. 
In each of these visual ideas the color-element is 
predominant ; and then I think of the vermilion color 
which is common to all of them ; and as I do so the 
different margins of subordinate elements fade away, 
leaving the idea of vermilion in possession of the field. 
Such an idea, re-presentative of an element common 
to several or many impressions, is termed an abstract 
idea. It results from, first, generalizing the effects of 
predominant elements in several sense-impressions ; 
secondly, perceiving the similarity of these predomi- 
nant elements, each to each ; and lastly, abstracting 
this predominant element from the subordinate 
elements with which it is associated. When the 
element is merely predominant, the subordinate ele- 
ments are still present in the margin of conscious- 
ness ; but when the abstract idea is reached, the 
subordinate elements, so to speak, neutralize each 
other, and are ignored or neglected. Eedness is thu^ 
an abstract sense-idea. Our language is full of words 
which signify elements or qualities of sense-im- 
pressions floated off by abstraction from the other 
elements or qualities with which they were associ- 
ated in the sense-impression as it was actually ex- 
perienced. The process of attaining, through gener- 



20 PSYCHOLOGY i'OR TEACHERS 

alization, to an idea of that which is common to a 
number of particular experiences, is termed concej)- 
tion. We conceive redness, size, weight, hardness, 
and so forth. We can conceive also virtue, beauty, 
truth, apart from the particular persons by whom, or 
the actions in which, these excellencies are exem- 
plified. 

We can also, through generalization, reach a con- 
ception of relation. Suppose that we perceive that 
this piece of string is twice as long as that piece ; 
this bullet twice as heavy as that bullet ; this note 
twice as loud as that ; this pressure twice that ; this 
light twice as brilliant as that. The same relation, 
which we may call that of " twiceness," or of two to 
one, holds good for all these varied experiences. In 
the act of perceiving the relation in each case we 
make it predominant. And when we think over the 
experiences we neglect or ignore the subordinate 
elements therein, and rise to an abstract idea of rela- 
tion. The abstract idea of relation has two points 
in common with the abstract sense-idea (such as that 
of redness) : (1) that it is the result of generalizing 
from several or many particular experiences, and 
(2) that it is, so to speak, floated off from actual ex- 
perience, though it arises therefrom. 

As it is important to distinguish between sensation 
and perception, so also is it important to distinguish 
between perception and conception. PercejMon deals 
with particular instances ; and we perceive a particu- 
lar relation. Conceptioji deals with the results of 
generalization ; we conceive the quality or relation as 
common to a numher of particular cases. 

We may now classify as follows : — - 



STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS 21 

FOCAL TO CONSCIOUSNESS. 

Presentative. Re-presentative. 

Sensation. 

Impressions of sense Ideas of sense or sense-ideas. 

(analyzable into sensations) . 

Perception. 

Impressions of relation Ideas of relation 

{i.e. transitions in conscious- {i.e. transitions in conscious- 
ness between sense-mpres- ness between sense-ideas, or 
isions). between a sense-idea and a 

sense-impression) . 

Conception, 

(There are no impressions Predominant and Abstract 
under the head of concep- sense-ideas. 
tion. The presentative ma- Predominant and Abstract 
terial is given in Sensation ideas af relation. 
and Perception). (Both as a rule general- 

ized.) 

It must be remembered that the above classifica- 
tion deals with what is focal to consciousness, and 
that states of consciousness as they are actually ex- 
perienced comprise a great deal that is marginal. 
During healthy normal waking life there is always 
much that is presentative in the margin of conscious- 
ness. It is this that in the midst of our abstract 
thought, or our flights of imagination, keeps us in 
touch with our immediate surroundings and the 
practical realities of our life. But the margin may 
contain in addition to these presentative sense- 
elements, and in addition to re-presentative elements 
of the same category, further elements due to per- 



22 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

ception and conception. For intellectual men and 
women, who deal largely with knowledge and the re- 
lations of phenomena, all that they see and hear, all 
their experience, is set in a relational l)ackground. 
Their impressions and their ideas of sense are some- 
thing more than mere impressions or sense-ideas. 
Set as they are in a relational background, the ob- 
jects of sense are suffused with meaning. This it is 
that makes us rational beings. 

Much therefore depends, not only upon the nature 
of that which is focal to consciousness, but upon the 
relation of this focal object to the margin, or the 
mental background, as we may term it. Where an 
object of sense is set in a background which contains 
no other elements than those introduced through 
sense-experience, it may be termed a sencej^t. When 
the impression or idea is set in a background of per- 
ceived relations, we term it a percept; and where it 
is set in a background of conceived relationships, we 
apply to it the term concept. These terms will not, 
however, have much significance for us until Wg 
have learned more concerning perception and con- 
ception. 

We have, in this chapter, been considering only 
that which is termed the cognitive aspect of conscious- 
ness. Cognition deals with our knowledge and all 
that leads up to it. Nothing, or scarcely anything, 
has been said concerning those aspects of our con- 
scious life which are comprised by psychologists under 
the emotions and the will. These we must leave for 
future consideration. 



CHAPTER II 

ASSOCIATION 

"We have seen that in any moment of conscious- 
ness there is, in addition to the focal impression or 
idea, much that hovers indistinctly in the margin of 
the mind's eye. A state of consciousness, as we have 
defined it, includes both the impression or idea in the 
focus and all that there is in the marginal region. 

Now, when we are experiencing a series of visual 
impressions — are looking, for example, at a row of 
figures — each member of the series occupies the focus 
of consciousness in succession. But when any one 
impression is succeeded by another, it does not at 
once and altogether disappear out of consciousness. 
It ceases indeed to be focal, but it is carried on in the 
margin. As you read slowly what is printed on this 
page, you experience a series of visual impressions 
which suggest certain ideas. But as each visual im- 
pression and its idea ceases to be focal, it does not 
at once lapse out of your consciousness : it passes 
into the subconscious margin. If you did not thus 
retain in mind what was said at the beginning of a 
sentence or a paragraph, how could you possibly 
understand what was said at its close ? How could 
you detect any fault in construction or fallacy in 

23 



24 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

reasoning ? A simple arithmetical series will afford 
an illustration of this carrying on into the margin. 
Take 7, add 5, divide by 2 ; answer, 6. A quick 
child can do this '^ in his head " without dif- 
ficulty. But it would be impossible to perform 
this simple series of arithmetical operations if, when 
the sound ^' two " fell on his ears, the idea of '^ seven " 
had already lapsed altogether from consciousness. I 
would urge the reader to make observations on his 
own mental sequences so as to realize this jcarrying 
on of focal elements into the margin of consciousness, ' 
It plays an important part in giving continuity to 
our thought and experience. 

But the effective carrying on of elements in con- 
sciousness, and the power of utilizing what is thus 
carried on, varies much according to the degree of 
mental development. There is a story of a yokel who 
was told that '^ the farmer had given Jim the sack.'' 
He asked slowly, ^^ Who's given Jim the sack ? " 
And on being told it was the farmer, scratched his 
head and asked, ^^ What's farmer given Jim ? " When 
this question was answered, the yokel asked, *' Who's 
farmer given the sack to ? " And so on, round and 
round. His consciousness could not hold all three — 
farmer, Jim, and the sack — in one synthesis. Some 
children seem unable to perform even a simple series 
of arithmetical operations ^' in their heads " ; either 
the carrying on into the margin does not occur, or 
they are, as yet, unable to utilize the material so 
carried on. The teacher must be ever ready to make 
allowances for such immaturities of faculty. 

The gradual fading of impressions and ideas, in- 
stead of their sudden and instantaneous cessation in 



ASSOCIATION 25 

consciousness, is sometimes said to fall under the head 
of memory. It is more satisfactory, however, to apply 
the term 'me7nory to those mental occurrences which 
are involved in the recally or re-presentation, of what 
has for a longer or shorter period completely faded 
out of consciousness. Thus we may remember events 
which have not in any way been present to conscious- 
ness for weeks, months, or even years. 

The phenomena of memory involves three things : 
first, registration ; secondly, retention ; and thirdly, 
recall or reproduction. It is clear that registration 
and retention are not the same. If we register a fact 
in our diary with ink which fades in a week, there 
will be no retention of the fact registered beyond 
that limited period. But in what way the effects of 
impressions are registered and retained we are scarcely 
in a position here to consider. The registration is 
effected somehow in our brains, and the effects so 
produced are in some manner retained by the brain- 
structures. When we speak into a phonograph, the 
effects of our voice are registered on the cylinder of 
the instrument, and are there retained in such a way 
that the sounds can be reproduced at any subsequent 
time. The sounds themselves are not in any way re- 
tained ; but the conditions of their reproductions are 
established. This is only a rough analogy ; but it 
helps us to understand the kind of way in which, 
though the mental impressions, as such, cannot be 
retained by the brain, the conditions of their repro- 
duction may be impressed upon the brain-structure. 
It is probable that retentiveness is a natural gift which 
is not in any marked degree susceptible of improve- 
ment. We must just make the best we can of the 



26 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

natural memory of which we stand possessed. But 
the power of recall, within the limits of our natural 
retentiveness, can be very markedly improved. 
If we use the term rememlrance for the natural com- 
ing to mind of ideas without conscious effort, and the 
term recollection for the process of, so to speak, hunt- 
ing up an idea, then we may say that remembering 
is a natural faculty hut recollecting is an acquired 
art. And in this terminology we may speak of '' try- 
ing to recollect,^' but not of ''trying to remember.^' 
Upon what the art of recollecting is based we will 
consider presently ; we have first to see upon what 
the natural faculty of remembering depends. 

It depends upon what are termed the la^us of asso- 
ciation of impressions and ideas, and especially upon 
that which is called the law of contiguitg. This law, 
in so far as it applies to impressions and ideas, we 
may formulate as follows : If any two focal elements 
in consciousness, c and ?, occur in successive moments 
of consciousness as impressions, the subsequent recur- 
rence of c as an impression or idea will tend, under 
similar marginal conditions, to suggest the recurrence 
of I as an idea. We are out for a country walk, for 
example, with a naturalist, and hear a peculiar laugh- 
ing, hawk-like note. " That's the alarm note of the 
hen cuckoo," he says. An association is thus formed 
between that particular sound and the name 
'' cuckoo,^' with all that it suggests. And hencefor- 
ward, so long as the association-link holds in memory, 
that sound suggests the name and idea of a cuckoo. 
I well remember the first perch I caught. I had 
pulled out some gudgeons, and held them firmly in 
my small hand to unhook them. I therefore did the 



ASSOCIATION 27 

same with the perch, and had painful experience of 
his prickly fin. An association was formed between 
the sight of a perch and its sharp fin spines which 
led me to be more careful for the future. 

It is scarcely necessary to point out how important 
is the establishment of association-links in the acquisi- 
tion of practical experience. Our cradle-days are 
largely spent in such self-education. Without the 
formation of association-links there would be no 
profiting by experience. AVere a child to scald his 
tongue with hot porridge fifty times in succession, of 
what avail would it be to him if the sight of the steam 
did not suggest through association an idea of the 
consequences previously experienced, in the light of 
which he could exercise control over his actions ? 
The value of association in practical experience lies 
in the fact that ideas are suggested with sufficient 
rapidity to intervene between impressions (such as 
those of the sight of steaming porridge and the burn- 
ing of one's mouth), and through their intervention 
render possible the guidance of our actions. Our 
cradle-days, I repeat, are largely spent in gaining 
experience of this homely, practical kind, thus ren- 
dered available through association. 

And when we pass from the cradle to the nursery, 
from the nursery to the garden, thence to the playing- 
fields, and so into the wide world, the same kind of 
practical self-education through experience is our 
constant guide. All our practical acquaintance with 
the nature of things, with their effects on each other 
and on ourselves, with what we can do and what is \ 
beyond our powers, — all this is rendered serviceable : 
to us through association. As impression after im- 



28 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

pression glides through the focus of consciousness, 
each becomes linked through association to its succes- 
sor ; and as it fades away through the marginal region, 
lapsing more or less rapidly out of our consciousness, 
it does not pass altogether beyond recall ; for the 
linkage of association binds the whole series into a 
chain. Now, if the nature of our conscious life were 
such as always to present us with new impressions — 
no one impression occurring twice — this association 
linkage would be of no practical service or value. 
For the law of suggestion through association is that 
when two focal elements, c and /, succeed each other 
as impressions, the subsequent recurrence of c will 
tend to suggest the recurrence of its successor I as an 
idea ; and if there was always a succession of new 
impressions, it is clear that there could be no such 
recurrence as is essential for suggestion through as- 
sociation. The nature of our practical experience 
is, however, such as to present the same impressions, 
often in the same order of sequence, again and again. 
And the law of suggestion through association ex- 
presses the fact that when an impression c does so re- 
cur, it tends to suggest an idea re-presentative of the 
impression I which originally followed c. If, for ex- 
ample, a child is brought into the study of his father, 
who is a smoker, the child will see his father strike 
a match, will hear the " quick, sharp scratch," and 
will see the spurt of flame. These will become as- 
sociated. When on a subsequent occasion the father 
takes up the box of matches, the ideas of striking, 
of the sharp, grating sound, of the flash of flame, 
will be suggested. And the ideas so suggested will 
be reinforced by the recurrence of the series of im- 



ASSOCIATION 29 

pressions. The repetition of the series will reinforce 
the association, and will render the recurrence of the 
ideas in due sequence on a subsequent occasion more 
probable. 

Association thus begets expectations ^ and when the 
expectations are repeatedly fulfilled they grow in 
strength and become ingrained in the mental nature. 
It is through these expectations, affording as they do 
data for the guidance of action, that experience is 
practically serviceable. And the rudiments of this 
serviceable experience are gained in the cradle, ex- 
tended and strengthened in the nursery, and amplified 
in all the subsequent practical commerce with the 
world. The gaining of the experience is, moreover, 
a purely individual matter. But it is a matter in 
which parents and teachers afford aid and guidance. 
Our aim here, in the education of sense-experience, is 
to give the infant or the child, or the developing boy 
or girl, opportunities for the acquisition of healthy, 
wholesome experience. The acquisition itself is an 
individual matter ; all that we can do is to secure 
satisfactory conditions for self-development. And 
this is a matter which requires tact and judgment. 
The world is full of objects which are either at once 
unpleasant and harmful, or pleasant for the moment 
but harmful in the long run. We have to furnish 
the conditions for the gradual but sure acquisition of 
experience of these objects. The child who never 
has a chance of bruising his body or mind against 
these objects will not be prepared to avoid contact 
with them when he is older. He will have to gain 
his experience of them some day ; when this day 
shall come, it is often by no means easy to decide. 



30 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

So far we have been considering the mere sense- 
experience of the world in which the child develops 
from infancy to manhood ; so far w^e have been merely 
regarding him as a healthy, active, vigorous animal, 
one who is wide awake to the practical nature of 
things, and can walk sure-f ootedly along the path of 
his animal life. All this practical experience is de- 
pendent upon association ; it must be individually 
acquired, but it may be acquired under conditions 
specially presented. The presentation of these ap- 
propriate conditions falls within the function and 
office of the teacher. 

But man, though he possesses a healthy animal 
nature, is also possessed of faculties which are dis- 
tinctly human. He is, for example, among other 
things a talking animal — one who can communicate 
with his fellows. And it is clear that the acquisition 
of language, the medium of communication, is de- 
pendent upon association. The child who sees the 
dog, hears also the word ^^dog," or '^ bow-wow ^^; 
again and again the sight of the animal is followed 
by the sound of its name, and the sound followed by 
sight. The two become closely linked, so that the one 
suggests the other. All the common objects of daily 
sense-experience are thus associated with sounds of 
suggestive value. And when the child begins him- 
self to speak, a further association is formed between 
the sight of the object, the sound of its name, and 
the impression due to the utterance of the word. 
The dog seen and heard, the word *^*^dog" or ^' bow- 
wow " heard and uttered, all become associated to- 
gether. 

It is important that, so far as is possible, the 



ASSOCIATION 31 

association should be a direct one between a sense-im- 
pression and its name. We give our children picture- 
books in which a number of animals, from a mouse to 
an elephant, are portrayed, more or less inaccurately, 
of about the same size. The child learns to as- 
sociate names with some or all of these ; but I 
question whether such associations are of very much 
value. The object of a picture is to suggest to the 
mind that which is pictured. For us who have seen 
a lion or a rabbit, the pictures of these animals have 
due suggestive value ; for us, who understand scale 
and perspective, there are the materials, in an ade- 
quate picture, for recalling to mind or indicating the 
animal as it really is. But for the child the impres- 
sion produced by the picture is presumably simply a 
new impression of a particular order, and has little or 
no suggestive value. The name associated becomes 
the name of that picture-impression, not the name of 
that which the picture represents. A child who 
could give the names of the animals in his natural 
history picture-book was shown a shrew mouse and 
asked what it was. After some hesitation, he said a 
tapir. Possibly it was the long snout which sug- 
gested this answer. It is always well to establish 
associations between the actual objects and their 
names. 

AYhen, at a later stage of his development, the child 
is learning the suggestive value of written symbols 
for the word-sounds with which he has already be- 
come acquainted, further associations are established. 
The name ^^dog" as heard and as uttered is asso- 
ciated with the visual impression of the name as writ- 
ten or printed, and sooner or later with the motor 



32 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

impressions of writing the name. And here comes 
in one of the great difficulties which both the child 
and the teacher have to meet and overcome. The 
word ^^cat" as heard is a comparatively simple 
auditory impression; the word '*^cat" as uttered 
affords motor impression that is not very complex ; 
and the word ^' cat " as seen is a visual impression of 
no great complexity ; but the word '' CdX" as spelt in- 
volves an operation of no little difficulty. It involves 
the analysis of the word, as seen, into three constitu- 
ents, c, a, and t ; no one of these three constituents, 
as named, has the same value, either for hearing or 
for pronunciation, as it has in combination in the 
word '' cat " ; and yet the child has to grasp that when 
these three symbols he calls c, a, t, unite to form the 
word, that word is pronounced '^cat.^^ 

With the analysis and synthesis involved in spell- 
ing we are, however, not at present concerned. It 
is to the associations involved that we have to direct 
our attention. The sound (auditory impression) of 
the word '^ cat," and the pronunciation (motor im- 
pression) of the same word have already been asso- 
ciated with each other, and with the sight (visual im- 
pression) of a particular animal or species of animals. 
These are now further associated with the sight of 
the word ^'cat" as written or printed. On the 
method of teaching to read by words rather than by 
letters, which is certainly psychologically justifiable, 
the association is a direct one between the sound of 
the word and the visual impression of the word as a 
whole. But when the analysis of spelling is sub- 
sequently introduced, further associations are estab- 
lished, (1) between the sight of the constituent '^ g" 



ASSOCIATION 33 

by itself and the name ^' " which we give it ; and 
(2) between the sight of the constituent '^ c " as com- 
bined with ''at ^Mn the word •'cat/' and the hard 
" k"-sound for which it then stands. This double as- 
sociation is not very simple, and is somewhat confus- 
ing. We should not therefore feel surprised if the 
child has some difficulty in mastering it. And when 
the child begins to write, yet further associations 
have to be established between (1) the movements of 
the fingers (motor impressions) necessary to form the 
letter "c/' (2) its name " C," and (3) its "k" sound 
value in the pronunciation of the word " cat.'' In 
some foreign languages these initial difficulties are 
somewhat reduced ; but the French child who has to 
struggle with " chat" is not much better off than the 
English child who has to contend with " cat." 

When, now, these associations have been estab- 
lished, the sound of the word " cat" may suggest (1) 
a visual idea of the animal, or (2) a visual idea of the 
word "cat," or (3) a motor idea of the pronunciation 
of that word ; while the visual idea of the word may 
further suggest its analysis in spelling. When a given 
impression may suggest one of several ideas — such as 
those numbered (1), (2), (3) above — we speak of 
divergent association. And, conversely, when several 
impressions, such as the sound of the word " cat," 
the sight of the word, or an outline picture of the 
animal, suggest the same idea — e.g. the visual idea 
or mental image of the animal — we speak of conver- 
gent association. Both convergent association and 
divergent association are of great psychological 
value. 

The earliest words used by (and probably also the 
3 



34 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

earliest words understood by) children are those which 
are symbolic of what we may describe as elementary 
modes of conscious experience, such as sense-impres- 
sions, motor impressions, and their simple emotional 
accompaniments. Words involving impressions of 
relation come later ; but the manner of their associa- 
tion with the modes of experience they symbolize is 
of like nature to that which has been briefly described. 
The progress of the child in the use of language is to 
j a large extent the index of its progress in mental 
I / development. We are not, however, at present en- 
y deavoring to trace the stages of this development. 
Our immediate subject is association ; and the associa- 
tion of words with the modes of consciousness they 
symbolize is throughout similar in its nature. 

A good deal of the work of the teacher in the in- 
itial stages of education is concerned with the estab- 
lishment of associations which must of necessity seem 
to the learner — in so far as he troubles his little head 
about the matter — quite arbitrary. lb is rather the 
fashion nowadays to inveigh against learning things 
parrot-fashion. But a good deal of parrot-work is 
necessary and quite unavoidable. The multiplication 
table, the tables of weights and measures, the vocabu- 
laries of foreign languages, declensions and the con- 
jugation of verbs, rules and their exceptions, the dates 
of certain salient events, — these and much besides 
must be committed to memory, that is to say, linked 
by direct association. And here the boy or girl of 
strongly tenacious memory has a great advantage over 
his or her companions who are less favored by 
natural endowment. There would seem to be no 
necessary connection betweeji a retentive memory and 



ASSOCIATION 35 

power of understanding and comprehending. The 
boy who has a naturally retentive memory is one in 
whose mind associations, once formed, hold good, so 
that when once c has been associated with I, the re- 
currence of c at once and with certainty, under ap- 
propriate conditions, suggests I. And this seems to 
be quite independent of whether the relation which 
c bears to I is understood or not. The boy who has 
such a memory has, I repeat, a great advantage over 
his fellows in the early stages of his school career, 
and if he have good powers of understanding as well, 
the advantage is a permanent one. His less fortunate 
comrade has to spend far more time in the drudgery 
of establishing with difficulty abiding association- 
links. But, however good his understanding, such 
drudgery is essential if he is to attain success. Few 
subjects are more dependent on understanding and 
the perception of relations than mathematics, and yet 
perhaps in no subject is either a naturally retentive 
memory or much drudgery in the establishment of 
associations, one or other, more essential. Furnished 
myself with fairly quick understanding, but wretched 
natural power of retentiveness, I had, as a boy, little 
difficulty in following a proposition of Euclid or 
grasping the explanation of a mathematical problem. 
My master, pleased with my quickness, but too leni- 
ent to insist on the drudgery which was absolutely 
necessary in my case, failed to make me acquire that 
groundwork of fixed associations without which no 
one can become a mathematician. And for this in 
due course I had to suffer. 

I shall not, I trust, be misunderstood when I con- 
tend that parrot-work and learning by rote, often a 



36 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

matter of somewhat wearisome drudgery, are essential 
for the establishment of associations necessary for 
mental development. Of course the understanding 
must be trained and exercised at the same time. 
But to understand and to remember, or to be in a 
position to recollect, are not the same thing, and are 
not even necessarily connected. And if we would 
make progress in knowledge, we must remember as 
well as understand. There can be little question 
that, for child as for adult, the exercise of the under- 
standing is more pleasurable than learning by rote. It 
is part of the art of the teacher to preserve a due pro- 
portional relation between drudgery and interest. 
And much may be done to lighten the drudgery by 
sympathy. Over the lintel of every school should be 
engraved the precept : EstaUish a hachgronnd of 
sympathy. The child will do much that is irksome 
to give pleasure to one with whom he is in sympathy. 
This condition of sympathy should be a permanent 
element in the marginal region of the consciousness 
both of teacher and of taught. 

And perhaps nowhere in the early establishment of 
associations is the background of sympathy more 
essential than in the matter of rewards and punish- 
ments ; and nowhere is tact and judgment more 
urgently required. In the animal life of sense-experi- 
ence the commerce with the world brings with it, 
more or less swiftly and directly, its pleasures or its 
pains. And these associations of pleasurable or 
painful results with particular actions are of the 
utmost service in the guidance of life. But when we 
are laying the foundations of a structure of knowledge, 
built upon the solid ground of sense-experience, but 



ASSOCIATION 87 

rising above it, these natural incentives or deterrents 
are no longer of the same guiding value. We have 
to institute an artificial system of rewards and 
punishments as incentives to industry and deterrents 
from idleness and inattention. What the rewards, 
what the punishments, should be, and how they should 
be distributed, it is not for me to say. My present 
business is to draw attention to the fact that they 
involve associations ; and that if the associations are 
to be established, and to have really guiding value, 
it is essential that they should be as direct and 
as uniform as possible. For the establishment of 
associations, it is of no use to reward or to punish 
a child some time after the event ; nor is it of any 
use sometimes to punish and sometimes to let alone. 
If fire sometimes burnt the child's fingers and some- 
times did nothing of the sort, a fixed association would 
never be established. And if the same action some- 
times leads to punishment and at other times is 
winked at, all the associative value of the punish- 
ment is lost. Boys much prefer a master who is uni- 
formly strict to one who is sometimes lenient and at 
other times exacting. 

Enough has now been said to show how important 
is association in the education of the schoolroom as in 
the life of sense-experience. It may be well, however, 
before passing on to other forms of association, to 
point out that all the teacher can do in this matter is 
to afford to the child, boy or girl, opportunities for 
the establishment of associations. Mental develop- 
ment is an individual matter. Each must establish 
his own association-links for himself. No one can 
do this for him. The art of education is the art of 



38 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

furnishing the best possible conditions for self-de- 
velopment. 

Let ns now pass on to consider briefly what is 
termed association hy similai^ity. Personally I 
should prefer the phrase suggestion hy similarity, or 
better still, suggestion hy resemhlance. A short time 
ago, while I was looking at Crook's Peak in Mendip 
from a certain point of view, I was suddenly reminded 
of the Corcovado Mountain on the Bay of Kio. 
There was sufficient resemblance between the two 
peaks for the one to suggest the other. The sugges- 
tion having once occurred, Crook's Peak having 
suggested Corcovado, the impression and idea became 
associated by contiguity, and thus the original sug- 
gestion was reinforced. Now, whenever I see Crook's 
Peak, the Corcovado is brought to mind. A great 
deal of this sort of thing must go on in the early de- 
velopment of sense-experience ; and it is further en- 
forced in the initial stages of education. The child 
is well acquainted with Spot, the family fox-terrier 
— calls it '^ Tot,'' perhaps. It sees, out of doors, 
another terrier, bigger and without the great black 
patch round the left eye, but on the whole resem- 
bling Spot ; and at once calls out ^^'Pot." As the 
child learns the use of words, the range and limits 
of suggestion by resemblance must be gradually 
brought home. Our nouns are, many of them, 
common names for a group of objects associated 
together in virtue of certain resemblances, and 
giving rise to generic ideas. 

In teaching a child, we are constantly indicating 
differences and distinctions as well as similarities and 
resemblances. We teach him to group things together 



ASSOCIATION 89 

ill virtue of their general resemblances, and to distin- 
guish within the group in virtue of particular differ- 
ences. This buttercup is different from that daisy, 
but both are flowers ; this dog is different from that 
cat, but both are animals ; Mabel is different from 
Lucy, but both are girls ; and so on in a great num- 
ber of cases. This constant habit of comparing 
things begets a tendency in a quick-witted child to 
be on the lookout not only for resemblance, but also 
for contrast. And as this habit becomes more and 
more established with passing years and growing ex- 
perience, there is an increasing tendency for things 
to suggest not only their likes but their opposites. 
To suggestion by resemblance is added snggestio7i by 
contrast. And when such contrasts have been sug- 
gested, they become associated by contiguity, and 
the subsequent suggestion is thus reinforced. The 
language of description constantly uses resemblance 
and contrast side by side, the one to enforce the 
other. The wing of the penguin, we say, is like the 
flipper of the seal, and very different from the wing 
of a swift or a seagull. The sea looked dull and 
gloomy, there was no life or brightness in the scene. 
A is slow, sure, and industrious, and quite unlike 
the brilliant but terribly idle Z. And so in a num- 
ber of other similar cases, which will readily suggest 
themselves (by similarity). 

When the child begins to perceive the relations of 
objects to each other, and begins to dissociate quali- 
ties from the things which, as we say, possess these 
qualities, something more than mere resemblance is 
suggested, namely, similarity of relationship. It 
might be well to reserve the phrase siiggestion hy 



40 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

similarity for those cases which involve a similarity 
of relations, employing the phrase " suggestion by 
resemblance " for those cases in which there is an ob- 
vious likeness of objects of sense-experience to each 
other. Most cases of suggestion by contrast involve 
contrast of relations. And in those cases which were 
alluded to at the end of the last paragraph, where 
similarity and contrast are employed for descriptive 
or explanatory purposes, it is the relationships which 
are of specially suggestive import. 

The language of the poet is full of suggestions by 
resemblance, similarity, and contrast. I will illus- 
trate this by a few examples from Tennyson. Eesem- 
blance prompts such lines as, 

** A brow 
May-blossoms, and a cheek of apple-blossom." 

" And her hair 
In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell 
Divides threefold to show the fruit within." 

But it is similarity of relations which is suggest- 
ive in 

*' A rosebud set with little wilful thorns. 
And sweet as English air could make her." 



There is more of similarity than resemblance in 

*' A laugh, 
Ringing like proven golden coinage true." 

So too in the question, 

"Was he not 
A fuU-cell'd honeycomb of eloquence. 
Stored from all flowers ? " 

The alternate cloud and sunshine of April suggest 
the comparison of the lines. 



ASSOCIATION 41 

" And liopes and light regrets that come, 
Make April of her tender eyes." 

A somewhat similar thought occurs again in 

" So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears, 
Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower." 

One or two more examples of analogies drawn 
from Nature must suffice. 

** A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas." 

This simile was no doubt suggested by the insta- 
bility of the equilibrium of an iceberg melting in a 
warm current. The suggestiveness of flowers was 
always great and varied for Tennyson. 

*' Wearing the white flower of a blameless life." 

*' Wait, and Love himself will bring 
The drooping flower of knowledge changed to fruit 
Of wisdom." 

My last example of such suggestions by similarity 
is a rather more complex one, in which an analogy 
is drawn between the forging of metal and the forging 
of character. It occurs In Me?noriam — 

" Life is not as idle ore, 

But iron dug from central gloom, 
And heated hot with burning fears, 
And dipt in baths of hissing tears, 

And batter' d with the shocks of doom 
To shape and use." 

By the man of science, as by the poet, suggestion 
by similarity, with occasional illustrative contrast, is 
constantly used in description and in explanation. 
The moon, we say, is continually falling towards the 
earth, as a stone falls towards the ground ; or, the 
moon swings round the earth as a ball at the end of 



42 I»SYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

a string swings round your hand. Just as the 
straight-falling raindrops seem to be slanting to a 
man who is driving rapidly in a dogcart, so do the 
rays of light from distant stars seem to change their 
direction as the earth whirls round in her orbital 
course. Just as the artificial selection of the gardener 
tends to the preservation of the strongest and most 
beautiful plants, so does the destruction of the weakly 
and imperfect, in the natural struggle for existence 
among organisms, tend to the survival of the strong- 
est and healthiest. Just as, to give one more ex- 
ample, pressure will squeeze ice into the condition 
of water, because water expands on freezing, so will 
pressure squeeze molten rock into the solid condition 
because molten rock contracts on solidifying. This 
last example shows how a fairly simple process of rea- 
soning is based on an insight into inverse similarity 
of relations. 

It may, I think, be fairly said that, while sugges- 
tion directly due to association by contiguity is that 
which chiefly determines the sequence of ideas in the 
lower stages of mental development and during the 
earlier months or years of child-life, and while sug- 
gestion by resemblance follows thereon ; all the more 
subtle and delicate sequence of ideas in our adult 
life is due to suggestion through similarity or con- 
trast. 

We must now revert to association by contiguity 
that we may take note of a qualifying clause in our 
statement. If any two focal elements in conscious- 
ness, c and I, occur in successive moments of con- 
sciousness as impressions, the subsequent recurrence 
of c as impression or idea will tend under similar 



ASSOCIATION 43 

marginal conditions , to suggest the recuiTence of / 
as an idea. The clause to which we have now to 
direct our attention is that which is here italicized. 
In practical experience c has not only become asso- 
ciated with ly but also with /, r, and y. This was 
described as divergent association. The sound of 
the word ^'cat" is associated with the visual image 
of the animal, the visual image of the word, the pro- 
nunciation of the word, the writing of the word. 
The marginal conditions of the moment determine 
which of the divergent lines of association shall be 
followed. Under the marginal conditions of repeat- 
ing what the teacher reads, the pronunciation of the 
word is suggested ; under the marginal conditions of 
dictation, the writing of the word ; under the mar- 
ginal conditions of a walk in the garden, the visual 
image of the animal will probably be suggested. A 
great number of our words have divergent associa- 
tions ; and yet, when we meet them in their proper 
places in the sentence, we are seldom at fault in tak- 
ing the particular suggestion intended by the author. 
This is because the whole sentence, and what has 
preceded it, creates the requisite marginal conditions. 
If we say, " Sauntering along the well-kept gravel 
walk, she admired the low, neatly-trimmed edging 
of box," few will misunderstand us, though the word 
"box" is one with many divergent associations. 
For young children, whose experience is necessarily 
limited, most words have only particular associations ; 
and this is one cause of their apparent inattention. 
If the word ''^dog," for example, is at once suggest- 
ive of Spot, the family fox-terrier, directly that word 
occurs in the child's sentence, away flies the little 



44 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

mind to the particular animal, and the reading lesson 
becomes hazily marginal. We all of us know how 
readily some chance expression of a speaker or 
preacher may suggest something of particular inter- 
est to us, and how our attention is thus diverted from 
what he is saying. 

The relation of the focal impression or idea to the 
margin of consciousness gives rise to what is termed 
si7nuUaneous association, or the association through 
contiguity of focus and margin. It is not, be it noted, 
an association of impressions and ideas, as we have de- 
fined these terms, but an association of the impression 
or idea with its marginal setting, or with some ele- 
ments therein. Thus, we chance to meet a man of 
striking or peculiar appearance in the street. Sub- 
sequently we meet him at dinner ; and the sight of 
his face suggests the marginal setting of the street 
scene in which on the former occasion he was focal. 
Or we are reading Tennyson in the open air, which is 
perfumed with the scent of gorse. Subsequently 
the scent of gorse suggests some passage which we 
were enjoying at the time. All that we have learned 
concerning the intimate relation of focus and margin 
in the state of consciousness will help us to appreciate 
the importance and the reality of this simultaneous 
association. It is through this association that focus 
and margin are so knit together that in the moments 
of recall they are jointly re-presented in the new 
marginal setting of that moment. 

Furthermore, the relation of the focal impression 
or idea to the margin of consciousness is — or is a most 
important factor in — what we term interest. The 
interest may be a special one, arising out of what our 



ASSOCIATION 45 

minds are occupied with at the time in question ; or 
it may be a general one, connected with our natural 
and habitual mental bias. Attention follows the line 
of interest ; and it is questionable whether we can 
attend, at any rate at all continuously, to that which 
possesses for us absolutely no interest. Hence, we 
must do our best to surround with some sort of in- 
terest that drudgery which is necessary for the 
establishment of useful associations. 

It only remains, in concluding this chapter, to say 
a few words on the art of recollecting. Both remem- 
bering and recollecting are based on association. In 
remembering, association suggests, without effort, 
that of which we are thus reminded. But when we 
fail to remember, we must try to recollect. And while 
remembering is probably, as before stated, a natural 
gift which can scarcely if at all be improved, the 
art of recollecting is one which can be cultivated and 
very greatly improved. For this purpose the fact 
which we wish to recollect must be fitted in to some 
system and associated in that system by several diver- 
gent links. It must be somehow tacked on to our 
interests. If once a fact be well incorporated in a 
system which interests us, it has as good a chance of 
being recollected as we can give it. Of course, the 
more natural the system is, the better ; but any 
system is better than none. The very fact of con- 
sciously and of set purpose incorporating new facts 
in a system necessitates dwelling on them and attend- 
ing to them, which facilitates their recollection at a 
future time. It is well also to form association-links 
with as many allied impressions as possible, such as 
sight, hearing, pronunciation, and writing ; and to 



46 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

strengthen the linkage by repetition at intervals. 
This may be illustrated by a simple and a more com- 
plex example. We wish to fix in our memory where 
St. Alban's Head is. To do so, we must fit it into 
our system of geographical knowledge. This bold 
headland lies about midway between Swanage and 
Weymouth. We look it out in the map of Dorset- 
shire, and thus add a visual impression to reinforce 
the auditory impression and the motor impressions 
due to repeating the words. We thus establish a 
number of systems in divergent associations. In 
afterwards seeking to recollect, we use these divergent 
lines as convergent upon St. Alban^s Head. It may 
be that we cannot recall whereabouts it was on the 
coast-line. But the thought of the map suggests 
Dorsetshire, and this gives a visual image of the 
coast-line ; and Swanage- Weymouth shoots across 
the mind. Again : We wish to fix in memory that 
the tooth of a fish called Ceratodus is found in a cer- 
tain geological stratum at Aust Cliff. We examine 
the tooth ; pronounce, write, and look at the name 
^' Ceratodus " ; think of its derivation {heras, horn ; 
odous, tooth) ; consider its appropriateness ; think 
of the zoological nature of the fish and its relation 
to a similar fish now found in Queensland ; look out 
Aust on the map ; learn that the " old passage " of the 
Severn was here ; get a geological section of the beds 
in the cliff, and perceive the relation of the bone-bed in 
which it is found to the other beds ; and generally 
consider the geological relations of the particular stra- 
tum. In this way we wedge Ceratodus pretty secure- 
ly into our system of knowledge, and link it by many 
lines of association with what we previously knew. 



CHAPTER III 

EXPERIENCE 

The sequence of impressions in any series of mo- 
ments of consciousness is directly due to the sequence 
of stimuli coming from external objects or from 
various parts of our own bodily organs. When we are 
out for a country walk, for example, the sights, sounds, 
scents of nature giye rise to a number of impressions, 
while other impressions may be produced by the 
movements of our limbs, our free and quickened 
breathing, and the general glow of active life through- 
out our bodily frames. If we consider, not only the 
focal impressions, but the states of consciousness in 
their entirety — that is, including both focal and mar- 
ginal elements — we find that the presentative im- 
pressions, such as the sight of field or flower or bird, 
the scent of the honeysuckle or the song of the lark, 
are set in a presentative background due to stimuli 
of the same kind as those which give rise to impres- 
sions, but less prominent and intense. The glow of 
healthy active life may not be specially attended to 
so as to be focal to consciousness ; but it none the less 
affects the states of consciousness of which it forms a 
subordinate part. 

On the other hand, when we have a sequence of 
47 



48 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

ideas — sitting perhaps in the twilight and letting onr 
thoughts run their course without much interference 
from the intrusion of impressions — this sequence of 
ideas is due to suggestion by contiguity or by simi- 
larity. In the case of suggestion by contiguity the 
original linkage was one of direct sequence of im- 
pressions ; but though every link of the chain was 
thus forged in presentative experience, the links are 
recombined in a new way ; so that we may describe 
the reverie as a new chain of old links. But where 
suggestions by similarity arise, these may be wholly 
new ; they are part of our individuality, and give 
originality to our thought. A similarity may strike 
us which has struck no one else. This forms part of 
what is called iynaginatmi. And just as in a sequence 
of impressions there is a background of presentative 
elements forming the margin of the states of cons- 
ciousness, so too in a sequence of ideas there are 
a number of re-presentative elements filling in the 
background. These are not ideas, for they are not 
in the focus of consciousness ; but they are of the 
same stuff of which ideas are constituted. 

Practically we seldom or never have a sequence that 
is either altogether presentative or altogether repre- 
sentative. When we are out for the country walk, 
there are not only impressions but also ideas which 
they suggest ; and the impressions and ideas follow 
each other in rapid sequence. The background, too, 
is not wholly presentative, it has re-presentative 
elements as well. In our twilight reverie we cannot 
altogether exclude impressions, while in the back- 
ground, or marginal region of consciousness, there are 
sights, sounds, pressures and presentative elements 



EXPERIENCE 49 

furnished by the immediate condition of our bodies. 
The states of consciousness are thus in either case 
very complex ; and this cannot be too fully realized. 
When we are dealing with impressions or ideas, we 
must remember that we are, so to speak, plucking the 
eyes out of our states of consciousness and examin- 
ing them separately. The natural position of the 
eye is in the body. And the natural position of the 
impression or the idea is in the body of the state of 
consciousness. We analyze the state of consciousness, 
and thus reach the impression or the idea as the re- 
sult of our analysis. We must not forget, however, 
that, as we actually experience it, the impression or 
the idea is only part of a state of consciousness. 

Now, with regard to experience, the first thing 
that is tolerably clear and obvious is that it is a matter 
of impressions and the directly presentative elements 
in consciousness. For every sense-idea we must have 
had direct experience of its corresponding sense-im- 
pression ; for every motor idea, a motor impression ; 
for every idea of relation, a basis in practical expe- 
rience. It is true that the reach of our thought ex- 
ceeds the range of our experience ; it is true that, 
through imagination, we recombine our experience 
in new modes ; this does, however, but emphasize the 
fact that the experience itself is a matter of direct 
acquaintance with what is immediately presented to 
consciousness. Even our higher flights of thought 
and imagination, if they have no basis in experience, 
are of little worth. It is one of the aims of education 
to furnish the conditions for the acquisition of a solid 
basis of experience. The second point to be noticed 
is that the practical value of experience is to afford 



60 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the requisite data for the guidance of action and con- 
duct ; while one of the aims of action and conduct 
is to extend and establish the experience already 
gained. 

Our bodies are so formed that we actively respond 
to certain stimuli. A tickling of the feet causes the 
withdrawal of the leg, a slight irritation of the deli- 
cate membrane of the nose gives rise to a sneeze. If, 
when a child a few months old is looking at your face, 
a bright object appear in the marginal region of its 
field of vision, the eyes are drawn away from your 
face to make the bright object focal. Such active 
responses to stimuli are called refiex actions. They 
> are also often spoken of as automatic, though the 
^ I word is not always used in this sense. The ability to 
; respond in these ways is a portion of our natural in- 
heritance, and forms part of the first raw material of 
experience. Automatism is thus the primary factor 
I in our active life. The secondary factor is control ; 
and this control is rendered possible of practical ap- 
plication through association and what is termed 
correlation. ^ By control is meant the conscious 
guidance of our actions in the light of previous ex- 
perience./ If, to take an example previously given, 
the sight of steaming porridge is associated with 
burning one's tongue, control can be exercised over 
one's action in the future, and unpleasant conse- 
quences may be avoided. In the early months of life 
we are constantly making new experiments in the 
putting forth of our inherited powers of activity. 
We select the successful and satisfactory modes of 
action for repetition, and hold in check those which are 
unsuccessful or lead to unpleasant or painful results. 



EXPERIENCE 61 

The growth of experience envolves a continual cor- 
relation of the data afforded hy sensation. By this 
expression it is meant that the impressions and ideas 
and the marginal data of the special senses, together 
with those derived from the parts concerned in the 
movements of our bodily organs, are brought into 
such relation to each other as to have suggestive 
value. If, when a child is gazing about here and 
there, a sweet is brought within his range of vision, 
so soon as it falls within the margin of the visual field, 
the eyes are so moved as to bring it to the focus of 
vision ; the hand is then stretched out to touch and 
seize it, and it is conveyed to the mouth. This in- 
volves a correlation of the data afforded by the special 
senses, sight, touch, and taste ; and a further correla- 
tion of these with the sensory data afforded by the 
movements of the eyes, the hand and arm, and the 
mouth. The stimulus in the margin of the visual 
field leads to the movements of the eyes necessary to 
render the sweet focal in vision ; the impression so 
produced suggests the ideas of the movements of hand 
and arm which will enable the child to grasp the 
sweet ; ideas of taste are at the same time suggested ; 
and these ideas of movement and of taste are followed 
by their corresponding impressions as the actions are 
carried out and the sweet taken into the mouth. 

When we are regarding the matter from the point 
of view of the acquisition and organizing of experi- 
ence, we speak of the correlation of the data afforded 
by the special senses among each other, and with 
those due to movements. But when we regard the 
matter from the point of view of the putting forth of 
the activities, we speak of the co-ordination of these 



52 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

activities. All matters of skill in the use of our 
bodily organs involve this co-ordination. A very 
great number of muscles are concerned in what we 
are wont to regard as comparatively simple activities, 
such as walking or speaking. All these muscles have 
to be called into play in due degree and with nicely 
balanced activity. We are not, however, conscious of 
the details of this process, which is, in fact, a physi- 
ological one. What we are conscious of is the net re- 
sult of the process. We are conscious, that is to say, 
of the activity as a whole, not of the individual play 
of all the muscles which bring about the activity. 
And the method of acquiring skill in the co-ordina- 
tion of activities is that of trial and error ; the select- 
ing of the successful results for repetition, and the 
checking of the unsuccessful results. This is clearly 
a matter of control. Indeed we may say that control 
is primarily exercised over our bodily activities in the 
guidance of our life of free movement. Nice and 
accurate co-ordination is the outcome of nice and ac- 
curate correlation of the data afforded by experience. 
Let us now take one or two more examples of cor- 
rela,tion. Suppose that we were blind and deaf; 
then, so far as our active life was concerned, we 
should be almost entirely limited to a correlation of 
the data afforded by touch and pressure among 
themselves, and with the data afforded to conscious- 
ness by the movements of our limbs. As we felt our 
way about the world, touches or pressures in various 
parts of our bodies would be correctly localized, and 
associations would be formed between such experi- 
ences and the movements of our limbs. The hands, 
and especially the finger tips, are the central organs 



EXPERIENCE 53 

of touch. If, as we felt about the table, something 
came in contact with our arm, we should at once 
bring the hand and fingers to bear upon it, that we 
might feel out what it was ; as indeed we all do when 
we are feeling for something in the dark. Thus we 
should organize what is called a field of touch. 

Now, suppose that to the sense of touch we add 
the sense of sight. This enables us to feel about us, 
so to speak, in a wider field. First of all, there is a 
correlation between visual data and the sensations of 
movement in the eyes. The field of vision becomes 
most delicately and accurately organized, so that, if 
any visual object appears in the margin of that field, 
we can at once move the eyes in such a way as to 
make the object focal. And this involves, not merely 
common movements of the two eyes in their sockets, 
but movements of convergence of the two eyes, and 
movements inside the eyes, which are necessary for 
the accommodation of vision to various distances. 
Hold a pencil-point about ten inches from the eyes, 
and alternately fix them upon this^ point and on some 
distant point on the wall or out of doors. You will 
feel the movements of convergence and accommoda- 
tion as you pass from one to the other. The visual 
experience of seeing an object at a given distance is 
due to a combination of visual sensations and motor 
sensations in the eyes and their sockets. Such an 
intimate coalescence of diverse sensations to produce 
an impression is a good example of what is termed 
mental synthesis. The product of the synthesis — 
which is a natural and involuntary process, not one 
that is intentional and voluntary — has not, for practi- 
cal experience, any reference to motor sensations. 



64 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

The motor sensations of convergence and accommoda- 
tion are not recognized as such, but make us aware 
that the object of vision is situated out there at a 
certain distance from us. And so completely do 
these motor sensations coalesce with the visual sensa- 
tions in the impression, that very few of us are 
acquainted with the fact that the sense of distance 
in vision is due to motor elements in consciousness. 

The distance element in vision is, however, corre- 
lated with other motor elements. The child who 
sees a sweet on the table before him, reaches out his 
hand to take it up. Visual distance at once suggests 
distance for touch. And if the object is farther off, 
so that he has to go to it in order to reach it, 
visual distance is correlated with distance for locomo- 
tion. Thus the field of vision and the fields of touch 
and of free movement are correlated. Furthermore, 
as we stretch out our hand to seize an object within 
our reach, we see it cross the field of vision ; and a 
correlation is established between the movements of 
our limbs, as seen, and the same movements, as given 
in motor sensation. Again, if we fix our eyes upon 
some object and then move our hand in front of our 
face, still keeping the eyes fixed, we see the hand 
cross the field of vision from margin to margin ; and 
if then, releasing our eyes from the object on which 
they have been fixed, we allow them to follow the 
movements of the hand, we experience a series of 
motor sensations as the eyes follow the hand. In the 
one case the movement is a change of the position of 
an object in the field of vision ; in the other case it 
is a change of position in the organs of vision. Or, 
take another example. As I write, the rooks are re- 



EXPERIENCE 55 

turning to their nests and flying westwards past my 
window. I fix my eyes on the corner of the opposite 
house, and rook after rook enters and crosses the 
margin of my visual field. My eyes remain fixed all 
the time. But now I fix my eyes upon a certain rook 
and follow him across the sky, keeping him steadily in 
focus. As I do so, the house and trees opposite and 
the clouds in the sky seem to drift across my visual 
field as my eyes move, following the bird. Thus, 
when my eyes are fixed there is a real movement of 
the external object, the rook, across the field of 
vision ; and when my .eyes follow the rook there is 
(1) a real movement of the eyes, and (2) an apparent 
movement of the fixed objects round me, the house, 
trees, and clouds. All these changes in the field of 
vision and movements of the eyes have to be corre- 
lated. When our bodies as a whole are also in move- 
ment, further correlations are necessary. These are 
soon completely established for our ordinary move- 
ments of walking and running; but for unusual 
movements the correlation is often imperfect. I 
traveled in the train a short time ago with a child 
who was making her first railway journey. ^' What 
makes all the things move so fast ? " she said to her 
mother. 

Besides the correlations we have been considering, 
there are further correlations of the data afforded by 
sight, touch, and movements of eyes and limbs, with 
the data afforded by the sense of hearing, the sense 
of smell, our temperature senses, and that sense of 
direction to which allusion was made in considering 
the impressions of sense. Smell is correlated with 
taste ; and such visual effects as that produced by 



66 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

steaming porridge are correlated with the effects of 
eating it too hastily. All these correlations in the 
special fields of touch, sight, hearing, smell, both in 
each field severally and of the fields each with the 
other, gradually coalesce and become organized into 
what we may term the general Jield of experience. 

It is probably difficult for us to realize what a 
chaotic muddle of sensations there must be in the in- 
fant's mind during the early weeks and months of its 
life. The exact steps and stages of the correlation in 
the child-mind we shall probably never know with any- 
thing like certainty. Few of 'US remember anything 
which occurred to us before we were about two years 
old, and by that time the field of experience is 
pretty well organized, and all the simpler correlations 
have been established. There are good grounds for 
believing that each individual has to establish all the 
correlations for himself. They are not inherited, 
but must be acquired. Co-ordinations of motor 
activity are inherited ; but the correlations of sensory 
data are probably, I repeat, not inherited, but have 
to be individually acquired. And there is but little 
that we can do in the way of direct teaching to 
aid the infant and child in the acquisition of this 
elementary but most important experience. All that 
we can do is to afford to him the best and most 
convenient opportunities and conditions for the 
work of self-development. 

It will perhaps have been noticed that I have con- 
stantly spoken of the correlation of sensory data, and 
not of the correlation of impressions and ideas. I 
have done so because\a good deal of the correlation 
takes place in the margin of consciousness, and is not 



EXPERIENCE 57 

by any means confined to the focal region, which is 1/ 
the special seat of impressions and ideas. Indeed, it' 
is somewhat remarkable that very much of the 
correlation is established subconsciously. Probably 
only a very small proportion of the correlation which 
becomes so well organized in the growing experience 
of the child have been formed intentionally. The 
infant does not apply itself to the task of correlating 
the sensory data which are hour by hour and day by 
day accumulating. The organization of experience 
is a process of natural growth, like that of the plant, 
which puts forth its shoots, leaves, and buds, and 
develops into a beautifully symmetrical tree ; or like 
that of the child's own body, in which the limbs and 
all the organs develop in due relation to each other. 
While, therefore, it is probably true that, as was 
stated in the last paragraph, the correlations of sen- 
sory data are not inherited, but have to be individually 
acquired, it is none the less true that it is part of the 
inherent and inherited tendencies of our mental 
nature to form such correlations if the necessary data 
are duly supplied. There is no evidence that this, 
that, or the other correlation is inherited ; but it is 
unquestionably true that the faculty for correlation 
is an inalienable mental possession. The sensory 
data of experience are the food of the mind ; each 
individual has to find or to be supplied with his own 
food ; but the power of dealing with the food, so as 
to build with it an organized and correlated body of 
experience — that is part of our dower as human 
beings. 

A great deal of this organizing and correlation is 
carried on subconsciously, in what 1 have termed the 



68 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

margin of consciousness. The correlation, indeed, 
affects the whole field of consciousness, and is in no 
small degree a matter of the relation of focus to 
margin, and of marginal elements among themselves. 
Many simultaneous effects in consciousness of changes 
in the visual field, movements of the eyes, and move- 
ments of the hand, are duly correlated when the child 
reaches forth its hand to seize a sweet. 

We have seen that the co-ordination of motor 
activities is founded on innate and inherited au- 
tomatism, but that it is brought under control in 
accordance with the data afforded by association and 
correlation, and is guided to desired ends in the light 
of past experience. The guidance and control are 
an expression of the individual will. Experience 
tells us that certain states of consciousness, or certain 
elements in consciousness, are pleasurable, agreeable, 
or in harmony with our mental nature ; while others 
are painful, disagreeable, or discordant with our 
mental nature. We seek the repetition of the former ; 
we shun or avoid the repetition of the latter. And 
this seeking or shunning is rendered possible through 
correlation, which has brought our activities into 
close touch with our sensory experience. Without 
such correlation the exercise of the will would, it is 
evident, be inoperative. As it is, through the cor- 
relations which have been established, control through 
the application of the will can be exercised over 
those particular activities which are immediately 
concerned in reaching or avoiding pleasant or dis- 
agreeable results. But here again we must notice 
that the activities themselves over which control is 
exercised do not, as a rule, occupy the focus of con- 



EXPERIENCE 59 

sciousness at the moment of control ; it is rather the 
end to be gained, or the result to be avoided, to which 
we attend. When the child stretches forth his hand 
to seize the sweet, it is the sweet itself which is in 
the focus of consciousness ; the means by which it is 
to be obtained is of merely subconscious value. When 
the child whose tongue has been burned with porridge 
holds in check the action of putting the spoon to his 
mouth, it is the avoidance of scalding his lips that is 
focal to consciousness. And yet in both these cases 
the control is really exercised over the motor activities 
concerned. This does but enforce that which has 
before been pointed out, namely, that we must deal 
with states of consciousness as wholes, and not merely 
pay attention to their focal elements. For we saw 
that, unless we take into consideration the marginal 
elements in consciousness, we cannot say why one 
rather than another of several divergent associations 
is suggested by such a word as '^ box "when it occurs 
in a sentence. 

It is, however, undoubtedly a fact that many things 
which in the first instance require the application of 
our focal attention, come with practice to be per- 
formed subconsciously. Take, for example, the case 
of singing. The child has at first to attend carefully 
to the vi^ay in which a certain note has to be produced 
by the voice, and to the changes which are necessary 
in order to sing the intervals in a simple tune. But 
after a while the tune can be hummed while the 
mind is occupied with quite different matters. And 
yet even here it is the effect of the motor activities 
on which the attention is fixed rather than on the 
motor activities themselves. The child hardly knows. 



60 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

if he knows at all, that it is on the movements of the 
larynx that his efforts to control the voice are ex- 
ercised. Or, take the case of a boy learning to ride 
a bicycle. It requires, in the early stages of the pro- 
cess, all his attention to guide the machine and pre- 
vent a fall ; after a while, however, he can spin 
along, talking to or listening to his companion, and 
paying no special attention to the machine, which he 
is all the while guiding skilfully. But here again it 
is rather the effects of the movements of his hands 
and arms than the movements themselves, on which 
his attention is fixed while he is acquiring the necessary 
skill. 

The lad talking to his companion as he spins along 
on his bicycle, affords indeed a good example of cor- 
relation. The conversation involves the correlation 
of the field of hearing, within which both his own 
and his companion's words fall, with that field of motor 
effort which we may term the field of speech. At 
the same time, the field of vision and certain data 
afforded thereby, such as occasional stones on the 
road, are correlated with the field of muscular effort 
involved in riding the machine ; and within this 
latter field there is a constant correlation between 
the incoming sensory data from legs and arms whose 
diverse work must co-operate to attain a common 
end. All this correlation is effected simultaneously, 
and yet in the midst of it all the boy is not insensible 
to the view, has a dim sense of a healthy and grow- 
ing appetite, and perhaps has a lurking notion, some- 
where at the back of his mind, that instead of en- 
joying this ride he ought to be working at his 
verse-task. If all this is not, strictly speaking, simul- 



EXPERIENCE 61 

taneously present to consciousness — and much of it 
does undoubtedly co-exist at the same moment — it is 
none the less rolling through the mind with a com- 
plexity which is rendered orderly only through cor- 
relation. 

In the common phraseology of ordinary conversa- 
tion, we should perhaps speak of the guiding of the 
machine under such circumstances as performed 
automatically. It is clear, however, that such autom- 
atism is not quite the same as that to which allu- 
sion has already been made. The automatism we 
then spoke of was an innate and inherited co-ordi- 
nation of motor responses, like that which enables a 
baby to perform the very complex operation of sneez- 
ing. It is quite certain that we do not inherit an 
automatic co-ordination of the motor activities in- 
volved in riding a bicycle. When we speak of the 
exercise of skill in this matter, or in any such cases, 
as automatic, we mean that the constant guidance 
and control which was requisite at first is no longer 
necessary. Practice has made perfect, and the man- 
agement of the machine is so much a matter of halit 
that it can be performed, if not unconsciously, at 
any rate quite subconsciously. This automatism, 
which is the result of practice and habitual perform- 
ance, is called secondary automatism. It is obviously 
a great advantage for the conduct of our lifers ac- 
tivities that we should thus be able to establish co- 
ordinations which are secondarily automatic, the 
due performance of which may be left with perfect 
confidence to the margin of our consciousness while 
our focal attention is otherwise occupied. 

We must not fail to remember, however, that com- 



62 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

plex correlations, which are to us so natural that we 
never trouble our heads about them, are for the 
little child matters the difficulties of which have not 
yet been overcome ; and that complex co-ordinations 
which have, for us, passed so completely into the 
secondarily automatic class that they may be left for 
subconsciousness to afford the little guidance that is 
necessary, still require for the child the practice 
which will eventually render perfect. Hence, it is of 
some importance that the teacher of young chil- 
dren should understand the conditions of mental 
development, in order that she may so far enter into 
the nature of the child-mind as to appreciate and make 
due allowances for difficulties due to its immaturity. 
*' Put yourself in his place, ^' is a good motto, but it 
is not easy of application in the education of little 
children. 

Now, a great deal of early education is concerned 
with the imparting of skill. And I think it is no 
exaggeration to say that, so far as this is concerned, 
an ounce of demonstration is worth many pounds of 
description. We build here upon the natural faculty 
of imitation. We must show the child how a skilled 
action is to be performed, and get him to imitate what 
we do. Fortunately, children are for the most part 
very observant and very ready to imitate. It is sur- 
prising what rapid progress they often make in the 
acquisition of skill. 

And I think it is difficult to exaggerate the im- 
portance of a varied training in skill. It is indeed, 
in my opinion, of primary importance in the early 
stages of education and for some time onwards. 
Nor should it at any time during the preparatory 



EXPERIENCE 63 

years of life be neglected. Involving as it does the 
constant correlation of the data of sense, and the nice 
co-ordination of motor activities ; essentially prac- 
tical and in close touch with real things ; fostering 
habits alike of close observation and of accuracy of 
performance ; based upon an elementary exercise of 
the will in the guidance of action ; necessitating the 
steady application of means to a definite end in view ; 
lending itself admirably to an elementary apprecia- 
tion of beauty, and fostering a desire for its attain- 
ment ; — on all these grounds the kindergarten should 
form a prominent feature in our educational system. 
For the training of the finger muscles, Slojd, draw-* 
ing, and the playing of a musical instrument — best 
of all, if there is a good ear for music, the violin — 
are admirable. The wider and more varied the train- 
ing the better ; for our object is to give to the fingers 
a skill which may eventually be applied to anything, 
from tying a knot or a white tie or sewing on a but- 
ton, to the most delicate touches of art on the one 
hand to the equally delicate touches of scientific 
manipulation on the other. Whenever I find a student 
who displays unusual delicacy of dissection in com- 
parative anatomy, I inquire how he or she has trained 
the finger muscles so as to have them so well under 
control. Often I receive for answer, that they have 
not been specially trained in any way. But, on 
further inquiry, I nearly always get such answers as, 
''Oh yes, Fm fond of drawing — just sketching 
things that strike me, without any knowledge of the 
subject" ; or, ''Well, Fve always been rather given 
to carving boats, and the knobs of sticks, and odd 
things, but I never learned to do so." No doubt 



64 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

such answers indicate a natural gift which has found 
expression in these ways ; no doubt there may be 
some whose fingers are by nature '' all thumbs'^ ; but 
I believe, if these ^' thumbs " are only trained at a 
sufficiently early and plastic stage of development, 
they will, in nine cases out of ten, turn out to be 
very respectable fingers. 

Nor must we despise the value of this delicacy of 
skill in its application to much that is highest in 
human endeavor. In many departments both of art 
and science, skill is essential as the medium of ex- 
pression of that which takes form in the mind of the 
artist or man of science. In painting, technique may 
be inferior in worth to inspiration ; but of what value 
to mankind is the inspiration of the painter if his 
skill in technique is inadequate to embody his ideal ? 
What do we not owe to the marvellous interpretative 
skill of such a pianist as Paderewski ? How much 
of the value of anatomy and surgery to man would 
remain if we failed to include the marvellous skill in 
their application which characterizes a great opera- 
tor ? Of physical science it is scarcely too much to 
say that it owes its present position to the application 
of skill, to the making of delicate apparatus, and the 
execution of experiments of extreme nicety. Skill 
in the manufacture and skill in the use of the mi- 
croscope have done much to make biology what it 
now is. In a word, skill is the faithful and un- 
wearied handmaiden which ministers both to science 
and to art. 

For the training of the larger, coarser body mus- 
cles, Swedish drill, the gymnasium, dancing, and 
games are of the utmost value. What our national 



EXPERIENCE 65 

games have done for the English race it is difficult 
to overestimate. They train us to use our bodies in 
the most efficient manner, and to expend our energies 
to the best advantage. It is impossible to watch the 
organized games, musical drill, and other exercises of 
the kindergarten, without being impressed with the 
value of the training in what may be termed social 
co-ordination. An old soldier standing by my side 
on such an occasion said to me, " That's the training 
for our future soldiers and sailors. '^ A good foot- 
ball team, a good eleven, a good eight, work together 
for a common aim, and learn to combine their skill 
with due co-ordination and due subordination. The 
playing-fields are the finest school of organized co- 
operation in the world. 

In all these matters of skill what is learnt is es- 
sentially real and practical. They depend on direct 
experience ; second-hand information is of little or 
no value. We have here a form of education which 
is in close touch with the realities of that with which 
it deals. I have heard intellectual people speak of it 
as '' mere physical training." But I am anxious that 
it should be quite clearly understood that this '* mere 
physical training" involves a training in mental 
qualities which are, whatever may be the position 
assigned to them in the mental hierarchy, of an emi- 
nently serviceable character. Quickness and sure- 
ness of eye, swiftness and accuracy of response, are 
qualities which are mental as well as physical, and 
which enable a man to deal successfully with many 
of the practical difficulties of life ; while the habit of 
working with his companions for a common object, 
and contending with others in friendly contest, gives 
5 



66 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

him a practical knowledge of character and a power 
of dealing with his fellow-men which are invalu- 
able. 

Let me now say a few words in brief summary of 
what we have so far learnt. We have grasped, I trust, 
that a state of consciousness, regarded as a whole, is 
by no means simple, but is made up of a number of 
psychical elements which co-exist together and are 
of various degrees of intensity. These elements are 
either presentative, that is to say, directly due to 
stimuli from without or from parts of our bodies, or 
re-presentative, that is to say, reproductions of the 
presentative elements. The most prominent or focal 
of these elements are what we termed impressions 
when they are presentative, and ideas when they are 
re-presentative. Ideas are suggested to the mind in 
virtue of association by contiguity, or through re- 
semblance and similarity. But in any case the im- 
pression, or the idea, which is in the focus of conscious- 
ness, does not stand alone. It is set in a background 
of marginal elements of both the presentative and 
the re-presentative order. Only by neglecting this 
background, for the purposes of our study, can we 
consider impressions or ideas by themselves. For the 
purposes of our study, that is to say, we isolate the 
impressions and ideas, and distinguish them from 
their natural margin. But in practical experience 
the margin is always exercising a subtle but none 
the less important influence on the focus. Hence 
the actual sequence of our ideas is in part due to 
suggestion through association or similarity, and in 
part due to the influence of the margin. In other 



EXPERIENCE 67 

words, the idea which is focal in any state of con- 
sciousness is a product of the preceding state of con- 
sciousness as a whole, focus and margin contributing 
to the effect. 

As a great number of sensory data are constantly 
pouring in upon the mind, partly from the special 
senses, partly from the organs of our bodies which 
are concerned in motor activity, it is necessary that 
they should be brought into relation to each other 
and duly marshalled and organized. This is the 
work of practical experience, and is termed correla- 
tion. It affects the whole field of consciousness, and 
is largely a matter which concerns the marginal re- 
gion. It is, however, also, in an important degree, 
a bringing of the focus and the margin into due 
relation to each other, so that this subconscious mar- 
gin becomes subordinate and ministrant to the more 
imperious affairs of the focus. 

If, instead of considering the development from 
the point of view of experience and the correlation 
of sensory data, we regard it from the standpoint of 
the organization and perfecting of the bodily activi- 
ties, we speak of co-ordination. We come into the 
world with bodies the organs of which are already 
automatically performing co-ordinated activities (as 
in the case of the heart and breathing apparatus), or 
are ready to perform them automatically on the ap- 
plication of the appropriate stimulus (sneezing, suck- 
ing). It is part of the business of development to 
bring the activities under fuller and fuller guidance 
and control, thus organizing in the light of expe- 
rience the raw materials of co-ordination which we 
inherit. But when the guidance is constantly and 



68 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

steadily exercised in certain directions, habits of 
action are established ; fully conscious guidance may 
then be withdrawn, and the activities left to subcon- 
scious guidance in the margin of consciousness. The 
activities become secondarily automatic. 

A very important part of our education is, as we 
have seen, concerned with the correlation of sensory 
data and the co-ordination of motor activities. We 
may call this education in the matter of ^practical 
experience. 



CHAPTER IV 

PERCEPTION 

The process of correlation considered in the last 
chapter involves the bringing into relation, for the 
practical purposes of daily life, of the diverse data 
afforded by the several special senses, together with 
those afforded by the organs which are concerned in 
bodily movement and activity. Now this process, 
though it is certainly accompanied by consciousness, 
is not a voluntary one. It is not one performed with 
the end and object of correlation consciously in view. 
The relations, as such, do not come into focus at all. 
We utilize the correlations, but we do not attend to 
them. The correlations themselves would seem in- 
deed so be throughout subconscious, our attention 
being fixed on their effects or their net results. In 
illustration of this, I would again adduce the case of 
the control of the voice in singing. For the attain- 
ment of this end, certain auditory data have to be 
correlated with the data afforded by the larynx and 
the parts of the mouth. And yet few of us are aware 
while some might even deny, that such correlations 
are necessary. So too, in pronouncing our commonest 
words. Probably not many of my readers could state, 
without first making special observations directed to 

69 



70 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

that end, the co-ordinations which are necessary for 
the pronunciation of the words '' fall out." Try to 
do so yourself. This will lead you to pay attention 
to them, to note the movements of the mouth organs, 
the modifications of respirations. All of these have 
to be nicely adjusted through the correlation of the 
sensory data from the various organs concerned. 
When we are learning to speak or to sing, we proceed 
on the method of imitation, of trial and error. A 
particular sound has to be produced. We try, and 
fail ; try again, and are less unsuccessful ; try yet 
again, and at length succeed. The nature of the 
correlations involved in attaining this success does 
not enter the field of focal and distinct consciousness. 
We are concerned with the effects produced, not 
with the means of producing them. 

To do a thing, and to know how you do it, are two 
very different things. Ask a boy how he manages 
that clever back-stroke at lawn-tennis. He cannot 
tell you ; he does not know. He has no idea how he 
learned to do it. He supposes it is practice. But he 
will show you how he does it with much pride and 
pleasure. The feat of skill requires a wonderfully 
nice and accurate co-ordination of activities, involv- 
ing I know not how many muscles in various parts 
of the body : the sensations which accompany this 
co-ordination are correlated, and afford the data re- 
quisite for the maintenance of control over the activ- 
ities in question. But what the co-ordinations are, 
the boy does not know, and probably does not care. 
They have been established subconsciously and are 
utilized subconsciously ; and knowledge is a matter 
not of subconscious effects, but of that which is focal 



PERCEPTION 71 

and definite to consciousness. It may perhaps be 
said that the correlations requisite for the perform- 
ance of a feat of skill are not subconscious, but are 
unconscious ; that the whole matter is one of mere 
bodily mechanism, and not psychological at all. Two 
replies may be given to such an assertion : a general 
reply and a special reply. The general reply is, that 
in so far as the skilled activity is a feat performed 
under guidance and control, the requisite data for 
such guidance must have been present to conscious- 
ness. It can hardly be maintained that the boy who 
makes the clever backhand stroke at lawn-tennis is a 
mere automaton ; his feat is the result of experience 
gained by frequent practice ; and unconscious expe- 
rience is a contradiction in terms. The special reply 
is that, if you attend to the matter, you will be 
able to a large extent to make the subconscious cor- 
relations focal to consciousness. Then you will be 
able not only to perform the feat of skill, but to 
know, and to some extent to describe, how you do 
it. 

When, in this way, we pay special attention to the 
details of the way which our minds act, we are ex- 
ercising introspectio7i. Introspection is looking 
within at the workings of our own consciousness. It 
is absolutely necessary in psychology. I would beg 
my readers to exercise themselves in the art of in- 
trospection, and to observe narrowly the sensory data 
that accompany the performance of skilled activities. 
It may not be easy at first. Xot improbably it is a 
new field of observation and investigation. But it is 
an interesting field, and for the teacher one that is 
worthy of thorough and careful survey. And for- 



72 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

tunately it is one that is always close at hand. The 
Btudent of other branches of scientific investigation 
has to seek and collect the materials for his study. 
The psychologist carries with him his material wher- 
ever he goes. 

Such introspection soon makes us acquainted with 
the distinction between the subjective and the object- 
ive aspect of experience. The distinction is rather a 
difficult one to grasp quite clearly and distinctly ; but 
it is worth while to take some trouble to make one- 
self familiar with these two ways of dealing with states 
of consciousness. And here let me say that in no 
study is it more essential to check by a direct appeal 
to your own experience all the statements which you 
are asked to accept, than it is in psychology. You 
have always your own experience at hand for purposes 
of thus checking what is asserted. But remember 
that, if you are unable to indorse the statement, this 
may be due, either to the fact that the statement is 
erroneous, or to the fact that you are still inexpe- 
rienced in introspection. In either case put some 
mark opposite the statement, and endeavor again 
and again to check it by an appeal to your own ex- 
perience. Do not accept it unless self-observation 
convinces you of its truth ; but do not reject it 
until you are quite sure that your own experience 
not only does not support it, but actually contra- 
dicts it. 

Let us now try and get at the meaning of these 
terms, objective and suljective. Looking up from my 
page, I see, against the blue background of the sum- 
mer sky, the swifts wheeling in their flight. That is 
a bit of practical experience. In its objective aspect 



PERCEPTION 73 

there are the birds at a certain distance from me, 
moving across the sky. No doubt it is I who am 
observing them ; but I take that fact for granted. 
And it is with this objective aspect that we are usu- 
ally concerned in the ordinary course of our daily 
life. But now let us turn to the other or subjective 
aspect. I, the observer, am experiencing certain 
sensations, which somehow combine together to give 
rise to what I describe as a swift in motion out there 
in the sky. If I consider the bird in its flight, I am 
considering the objective aspect ; if I consider my 
own impressions and states of consciousness, I am con. 
sidering the subjective aspect. It requires no intro- 
spection to see the swifts wheeling in the summer 
sky, but I have to look within to get at the subjective 
aspect of the experience. 

Note that what we have done here is to analyze the 
bit of practical experience. The subjective and the 
objective are the different aspects of the same piece 
of experience ; and it is only in analysis that we dis- 
tinguish the one from the other. The little child 
and the farmer's lad do not trouble themselves about 
the analysis, and probably know nothing of object 
and subject. And yet the words they use when they 
say, " I see a swift,'' imply the analysis into the sub- 
ject '^I"and the object '^ swift." But they also 
imply that both are co-operating at the moment of 
experience. If the swift were not there, I should not 
see it ; nor should I see it if I were not there. The 
swift and I, object and subject, must conspire to give 
rise to the bit of experience. What we habitually do 
is to pay attention to the objective aspect and take 
the subjective aspect for granted. It is the aim of 



74 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

psychology, however, to direct special attention to 
the subjective aspect and to learn all that we can 
about it. 

Two remarks may here be made before we pass on. 
First, Distinguish carefully between the subject as 
used in psychology, and the subject as used in parsing 
and the analysis of sentences. The siihject in psy- 
chology is that tuhich experiences : the object is that 
which is experienced. Secondly, Extend your idea of 
the object from the swift, which has been taken as a 
particular example, to anything which may be ex- 
perienced. The swift is an object of sight, my pen 
an object of touch, the movement of my fingers an 
object of motor sensation, and a vast number of 
things objects of sense-experience. But a difficult 
problem may be an object of thought, virtue an object 
of desire, my father an object of reverence ; and in 
like manner we may have objects of all the modes 
and varieties of human experience. Hitherto we have 
chiefly dealt with sense-experience ; but we shall have 
to learn that experience includes far more than the 
domain of sense. 

We will now proceed to consider certain objects of 
perception. First, we must inquire what is percep- 
tion. What do we mean by perceiving ? What is 
it that we perceive ? The word ^^ perceive " is often 
used in ordinary conversation in several somewhat 
different senses. In psychology it is employed as a 
technical term — that is to say, as a term that is used 
with a special meaning. But, unfortunately, all psy- 
chologists do not employ it in quite the same sense. 
I shall use it for that mode of experience by which 
we become acquainted with relations. We perceive 



PERCEPTION 75 

relations ; or, otherwise put, relations are the objects 
of perception. 

What, then, are relations ? I see yonder swift in 
the sky ; and I perceive its distance from the gronnd. 
I see, too, a martin ; and perceive that it is a smaller 
bird than the swift. In these sentences it should be 
noted that I am using the word ^' to see " in a general 
and not in a technical sense ; and in this sense it is 
not necessarily antithetical to perception. What per- 
ception does, indeed, is to single out a particular 
element in the act of seeing. We may see the bird 
set in a background of many relations ; perception 
singles out one of these and focusses it definitely. 
Again, I taste a couple of strawberries ; and I per- 
ceive that the one is sweeter than the other. I hear 
two notes struck on the piano ; and I perceive that 
the interval between them is a major third, I see a 
butterfly ; and perceive that it has lost a portion of 
one wing. Observe that in all these cases we have 
two impressions, or an impression and an idea ; and 
what is perceived is the relation of one to the other : 
of the swift to the martin ; of the one strawberry to 
the other ; of the one note to that which preceded it ; 
of the maimed butterfly to the generic idea of the 
perfect insect. Observe, too, that what we focus our 
attention on in the act of perception is not the related 
impressions, but the relation which they bear to each 
other. We focus our attention first on the swift, next 
on the martin, and then on the size-relation of the 
one to the other ; first on the one note, next on the 
other note, and then on their relation in the musical 
scale. 

In speaking of the relative sizes of two birds, the 



76 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

relative sweetness of two strawberries, and the rela- 
tive pitch of two notes, I have been drawing your 
attention to the objective aspect of the act of per- 
ceiving. The relative size, the relative sweetness, 
the relative pitch, are the objects of perception. 
And what about the subjective aspect ? What do 
we learn about the matter by introspection ? Let 
us take the case of perceiving the interval between 
two musical notes. When we hear the first note we 
experience an auditory impression ; when we hear 
the second note we experience another auditory im- 
pression ; but what do we actually experience when 
we perceive the relation of pitch between the two 
notes ? We experience a transition of consciousness 
from one to the other. This transition in con- 
sciousness is the subjective aspect of that which in its 
objective aspect we call a relation. Two pieces of 
metal lie before us : we wish to perceive their relative 
weights. We poise first one of them in the hand 
and experience a particular impression ; next, the 
other of them in the same way and experience another 
impression : we then say that the second is objectively 
heavier, and introspection tells us that the transition 
in consciousness was from a lesser impression to a 
greater. But so habitually do we attend to the 
objective aspect of our experience, that few people 
know anything about the subjective aspect. 

To become acquainted with the subjective aspect of 
the act of perception requires introspection, or look- 
ing within at the workings of our own consciousness. 
But both in the objective and in the subjective aspect, 
retrospection, or looking back on our experience, is 
required. To perceive the interval between two notes. 



PERCEPTION 77 

we must hear first the one, next the other, and then 
perceive what the interval between them was. We 
must look back upon our experience. Such looking 
back is a very simple case of reflectio7i. And without 
this very elementary and simple exercise of reflection, 
the perception of relations is impossible. So, too, 
subjectively. If in its subjective aspect the relation 
is experienced as a transition in consciousness, it is 
quite clear that the transition must be completed 
before it can be an object of introspection. Con- 
sciousness has, so to speak, made a little journey from 
one impression to another ; and it is only on reach- 
ing our destination that we can say anything about 
the journey as a whole. Then we can look back 
upon it and make it an object of reflection. 

I have spoken of the transition in consciousness as 
the subjective aspect of the relation ; and yet, just 
now, I said that the transition must be completed 
before it can be an object of introspection. Is there 
not some confusion here ? First, I call the transition 
the subjective aspect of the relation, and then I speak 
of it as an object of introspection. It is puzzling, no 
doubt ; but the puzzle is inevitable. The only way 
to remove the difficulty is clearly to understand its 
nature. Everything that we know must, in becom- 
ing known to us, be an object of knowledge. If, 
then, we are to know anything concerning the sub- 
jective aspect of our conscious experience, it must be 
made an object of knowledge. The subjective aspect 
of one moment's experience must be made the object 
of a succeeding moment's introspective experience. 
Introspection always deals with past experience. It 
may be the experience of only a moment ago ; but 



78 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

still it is the experience not of the ** now/^ but of the 
'^just now." One may illustrate this by a rough 
analogy. We can never see what is behind us ; no 
matter how quickly we turn round, we only see what 
was behind us a moment ago, before we turned. So 
we can never know — that is to say, we can never 
make the object of knowledge — what is the subjective 
aspect of our experience ; we can only know, through 
reflection, what was the subjective aspect before we 
reflectively turned round to examine it. Intro- 
spection is thus always retrospection ; or, in other 
words, introspection is always reflective. 

Remember that in the ordinary course of our daily 
experience we do not trouble about analyzing it into 
an objective aspect and a subjective aspect. From 
morning to night we may have a series of states of 
consciousness in accordance with which our actions 
are guided ; and we may never think of analyzing 
any one item of the experience. The little child not 
only does not, but probably could not, analyze. We 
have spoken of this simple, naive, unanalyzed phase 
of conscious existence as sense-experience. It has also 
been termed consentience. In such sense-experience 
there is neither subject nor object ; these two aspects 
of the experience are not yet distinguished in analysis. 
There need not be, and probably in the case of the 
little child there is not, any perception, in the sense 
in which we are using this word. The relations as 
such may never be focussed by the child through an 
act of perception. For it is quite sufficient for prac- 
tical purposes in the life of sense-experience that the 
relations (not yet definitely perceived as such, or 
rendered focal to consciousness) should be subcon- 



PERCEPTION 79 

sciously sensed. We are subconscionsly aware of, or 
sense (if we may, as before suggested, use this word 
as a verb), the movements of our eyes and our limbs, 
and are practically guided by the sensations in our 
actions, without turning the focus of consciousness 
upon them. We experience our states of conscious- 
ness as wholes long before we analyze them and per- 
ceive the relations of their constituent elements or 
factors to each other. Sense-experience thus supplies 
us with a large body of raw material upon which to 
exercise the higher faculties of the mind. 

We will now follow up the subject of perception 
a little farther. What we perceive, in the first in- 
stance, is the relation between impressions. And, to 
begin with, we deal with qualitative relations between 
impressions of the same order. We teach the child, 
for example, to perceive the relations between colors 
— the relation of blue to green, of green to yellow, of 
yellow to red, of red to purple, of purple to violet, of 
violet to blue. The transition in consciousness from 
red to blue is quite different from the transition from 
blue to green. Associations are all the while being 
formed between the visual impressions and the names 
by which we symbolize them. Again, we help the 
child to perceive the relations between different 
sounds — the sounds of nature, the tones and inflec- 
tions of the voice, the consonantal and vowel sounds 
employed in language, the different notes in music, 
and the differences in timbre in different musical in- 
struments. Here, too, a great deal of incidental as- 
sociation is introduced, for since sound is so important 
a medium of intercommunication, and since so much 
depends on tone and inflection of the voice, the per- 



80 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

ception of relation among sounds naturally goes hand 
in hand with, first the establishment of, and then 
the perception of, the suggestive relation through 
association. 

We thus lead the child to perceive the relations 
between impressions of the same order — sights, for 
example, among each other, and sounds among each 
other. Gradually there comes the perception of the 
two fundamental relations of similarity and dissimi- 
larity. Two blues, two reds, two voice-sounds, two 
musical notes, are similar to each other ; red and blue, 
voice-sound and violin-sound, are dissimilar to each 
other. And gradually, too, there comes the percep- 
tion of similarity with difference. Two violin-sounds 
or two voice-sounds are similar in quality but different 
in pitch ; or the voice-sound and the violin-sound 
may be similar in pitch but different in quality ; or, 
yet more generally, the impressions produced by voice 
and violin are similar in being auditory impressions, 
and altogether different in character from those im- 
pressions which we term visual, olfactory, or motor. 
Thus the foundations of grouping or classification are 
laid, and the power of perceiving similarity and dif- 
ference is quickened. 

So far we have been considering qualitative differ- 
ences, and these fall under two heads — first, the more 
general and broader differences between impressions 
of different groups, auditory, olfactory, motor, and 
so forth ; the complete difference, for example, be- 
tween the scent of a violet, the sound of a piano-note, 
and the sight of a green field : and secondly, the more 
special differences between impressions within the 
same group ; the difference, for example, between the 



PERCEPTION 81 

scenfc of a violet and that of a rose, or between the 
fresh spring green of the larch and the mature green 
of the cedar, or again, between the bark of a dog and 
the bleat of a lamb. All these are sensed as different 
in the naive life of sense-experience. They are only 
perceived to be different when attention is specially 
drawn to the differences as such ; when the relations 
are rendered focal to consciousness. 

We may now pass on to consider quantitative re- 
lations. And here a more accurate and exact train- 
ing in the perception of relations is possible. Such 
training ought, I think, to have a more distinct and 
definite place in our system of elementary educa- 
tion. 

The first stage in the perception of quantitative and 
numerical relations is that in which the quantity or 
number, as the case may be, is indefinite. One line 
may be perceived to be longer or shorter than another 
without a definite perception of the exact quantita- 
tive relation. So, too, one body may be perceived to 
be heavier or lighter than another ; one strawberry 
more or less sweet than another ; one note louder or 
softer than another ; one tint darker or lighter than 
another ; and so forth. These arc continuous quan- 
tities not naturally broken up into separate units. 
Again, one group of objects may be seen to be more 
numerous or less numerous than another without the 
exact numerical relation being perceived ; one tree 
may have more blossoms than another ; a series of 
notes, of rhythmical movements, of touches, or of 
other impressions, may be many or few. We may 
perceive the numerical relations as simply more or 
less ; not as how many more or less. 



82 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

The how much more or less involves the perception 
of definite quantitative or numerical relations. And 
this is impossible until numerical ideas, those for 
twice, thrice, four times, etc., and the words or other 
signs by which we symbolize them, have been grasped. 
The child has to associate the following : — 



12 8 4 5 

one two three four five 

And he has further to learn that the grouping of the 
objects so numbered, and called one, two, three, etc., 
is immaterial. Take, for example, the following 
arrangement of five dots : — 



The child has to learn that all these groupings are 
numerically equivalent — that is to say, that these are 
similar numerically, though different in arrangement 
or grouping. As a child I associated five with the 

arrangement • and I remember being puzzled when 

the same word was applied to a different grouping. 
Even how I tend to visualize a group of five objects 
arranged in this manner. As a child, too, I had some 
difficulty from the fact that the same terms are ap- 
plied to numbers and to qualities. That the relation 

of • to • is the numerical equivalent of the 

quantitative relation of to ; 

and that the phrase ''one to five" expresses both, is 
not by any means obvious to the child-mind ; or cer- 
tainly was not to mine. This may be overcome by 



PERCEPTION 83 

drawing a series of lines representing the relations of 
continuous quantities, thus : — 

. 1 

.. 2 

... 3 

.... 4 

5 



The child may be trained in the perception of con- 
tinuous quantitative relations by means of bits of 
wood or strips of paper of different lengths. He 
should also be taught by constant practice to draw 
lines exhibiting the simple quantitative relations of 
length. He will thus be correlating visual relations 
with motor relations ; or rather, speaking more accu- 
rately, he will be correlating visual relations associated 
with motor relations as given in eye-movements, and 
motor relations as given in finger or hand movements. 
One great merit of Slojd is that it gives a training in 
the perception of continuous quantitative relations. 
And it is worth noting that by far the most accurate 
perception of the relations of continuous quantities 
are by means of eye-movements in correlation with 
visual impressions. This is probably due in part to 
the fact that the transitions in consciousness, for 
example, from the impression of one end of a line to 
that of the other end, are accompanied by the pre- 
sentative sensory data of eye-movements ; and in part 
to the fact that, owing to the constant use of our eyes 
from morning to night, we have so much practice in 
the employment of this special mode of perception. 
In any case, as we shall see (p. 177), a good deal of 
use is made of the fact. 
For much the same reason, the direct perception of 



84 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the quantitative value of angles is one that is of re- 
markable accuracy ; for we are constantly looking out 
at the world around us along radii of a circle of 
which we form the centre, and radii which are in- 
clined to each other at definite angles. Both for its 
own sake as affording a training in the accurate per- 
ception of relations, and from its great range and 
importance in physical science, the child can hardly 
be too soon, and cannot be too exactly, trained in the 
perception of angular values. Such training should 
of course be accompanied by practice in the drawing 
of angles and in the correlations this involves. We 
have, too, here a means of bringing out that which 



is of so great importance in the acquisition of exact 
knowledge, the due perception of similarity with 
difference. The angular distance of a h, and of m n, 
in relation to the centre c, on radii from which they 
are placed, is the same ; but the direct distance from 
atoh h only half that from m to n ] while the dis- 
tance of c to a is greater than that from c to h, and 
that of c to m greater than that from c to n. When 
we remember that in astronomy our direct measure- 
ments are those of angular distance, and that the 
bodies so observed are at different distances from us 
the observers ; when we remember, too, that the 



PERCEPTION 85 

positions of places on our geographical maps are given 
in terms of angular distance — that is, in degrees, 
minutes, etc. — it will be clear that the training in 
such perceptions of angular relations will be of great 
service to the child as he proceeds with his studies. 
There are a great number of people of average educa- 
tion and intelligence who could not tell you why we 
speak of ^' degrees'^ of latitude and longitude, and 
for whom the phrase ''angular value" has little or 
no meaning. And this is in large measure due 
to the fact that their powers of perception have 
never been exercised in relations of angular magni- 
tude. 

The direct perception of relations of area or super- 
ficial extent is a good deal more difficult than that of 
relations of linear length. Nor is this to be wondered 
at, since it involves, at any rate in its more exact 
application, two dimensions in space. Not that the 
child need in the first instance analyze the areas 
the size of which he is comparing into linear relations 
in two directions. At first he directly perceives, 
without analysis, that one area is larger than the 
other, and then roughly how much larger. But it 
will be found that the more nice and exact perception 
of the relative sizes of different areas involves the 
more or less conscious analysis of the area in its two 
dimensional directions, and the synthetic combination 
of the two perceptions in the final perception. This 
therefore serves as an example of what we may term 
compound per ceptio7i, the final result of which is due 
to the synthesis of simple perceptions. An example 
of the same kind of thing carried a stage farther, is 
seen in the quantitative perception of cubical volumes. 



86 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

Here, for the purposes of exact comparison, linear 
perceptions in three dimensions have to be combined 
in the final result. 

The perception of quantitative relations of weight, 
of pressure, of depth of tint in color, of amount of 
salinity, acidity, or sweetness in taste, are less accurate 
than those of linear length, probably, as before noted, 
in part at least, from the fact that the transitions in 
consciousness are in these cases not accompanied by 
continuous motor sensations. Still, even in these 
cases, practice improves to a surprising degree the 
accuracy of perception. The artist can perceive re- 
lations of intensity and purity of color in a way in 
which no one without his special training could hope 
to do. The tea-taster and the wine-taster acquire 
an accuracy of perception which to one who is un- 
trained appears to be the result of an unusual natu- 
ral gift ; while a man who has been trained in such 
work detects differences in the scent of different 
samples of raw tobacco-leaf which to ordinary per- 
ception would pass unnoticed. 

The direct perception of time-relations is seldom 
made a matter of practical observation, except to 
some extent in music. It is not difficult, however, to 
perceive the equality or inequality of a series of time- 
intervals, unless they are too long. If a series of 
taps about a second or so apart be made, one can 
readily perceive whether they are equidistant in time, 
or whether the intervals are too short or too long. 
Nor is it difficult to say whether, when one short in- 
terval has been given, another, similarly given, is 
twice, thrice, or four times that interval. In these 
cases we tend to fill in the gap with so many similar 



PERCEPTION 87 

intervals — two, three, four, and so on, as the case 
may be. When a series of similar intervals are pre- 
sentatively given, it is surprising with what accuracy 
extensive groups of them can be perceived without 
counting. Listen, for example, to the ticking of a 
clock or your watch. The sounds may readily be 
made, without actual counting, to fall into a rhythm. 
If, for example, I listen to the ticking of my watch, 
the sounds tend to fall into a six-rhythm or an eight- 
rhythm. The first of every six or of every eight is, 
so to speak, emphasized. This emphasis is inde- 
pendent of actual counting. When the rhythm has 
been established, one may, without much difficulty, 
group the emphatic sounds into a wider rhythm of 
their own, and thus, through the double rhythm, 
perceive time-intervals of many seconds. 

You will probably find that, if you experiment in 
this way with your watch, when a six, eight, or other 
rhythm has been established, you have timed your 
breathing to the rhythm — a pretty example of sub- 
conscious correlation. Of course, by counting the 
sounds, or more readily by counting the rhythmic 
sets of sounds, we can accurately measure intervals of 
almost any desired length ; but here we are going 
beyond direct perception. 

Note that we are in such cases dealing with com- 
pound perception ; we are combining the perception 
of time-relations with the perception of numerical 
relations. Omitting now this numerical element 
in the perception of time-intervals, dealing, that 
is to say, with the intervals as such, and not with 
the summation of a number of similar intervals, 
we may inquire what is the psychological nature of 



88 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the time-relation. It would seem to be primarily the 
amount of sense-fading which an impression has un- 
dergone. An impression, whether of hearing or sight 
or touch, does not disappear from consciousness 
suddenly, but fades gradually. It does last, indeed, 
for a little while without any sensible fading. A 
visual impression, no matter how instantaneous the 
physical cause thereof may be — as in the case, for 
example, of the electric spark — dwells in conscious- 
ness about ^V of a second without sensible fading. If, 
therefore, sparks follow each other more rapidly than 
twenty-five to the second they appear continuous to 
the eye, though by the ear, in which the sense-fading 
is much more rapid, they are heard to be discontinu- 
ous as a series of distinct snaps. Hence the blurred 
appearance presented by the spokes of the wheels 
when a gig is in rapid motion. The photograph sees 
(if one may so describe its action) very much more 
instantaneously than the eye. Hence instantaneous 
photographs of animals in motion look unnatural ; 
the photograph sees them and fixes them in a way 
that no human eye can ever see them. 

There is thus a short period in which there is little 
or no sensible fading. Beyond this period the im- 
pression lingers in consciousness, and fades away 
gradually. In directly perceiving time-relations we 
are perceiving the amount of this fading. Natural 
bodily rhythms, like that of respiration, or that of 
walking — into which this element of fading also 
largely enters — are of considerable assistance to us, 
through correlation, in perceiving the quantitative 
value of time-relations. 

There is one more point to notice about the per- 



PERCEPTION 89 

ception of time-relations. It is that for purposes 
both of science and of daily practical life we translate 
them, so to speak, into space-relations in order that 
we may perceive their exact value. We look at the 
clock, and perceive that the minute-hand has passed 
over an angular distance of 60°, and at once say that 
ten minutes have elapsed. In the sundial we estimate 
time by the space over which the shadow has passed. 
King Alfred perceived time-intervals through the 
intervention of space-intervals when he noticed how 
much of his candle had been burned away. The 
savage perceives the position of the sun in the heavens 
and thus notes the passage of time. 

Attention must now be drawn to the fact that the 
relations which ive perceive are in all cases particular 
relations, though it does not by any means follow 
that the related terms should both be particular. 
The particularity lies in the relation, not in the terms 
that are related, one or other of which may be, as 
we shall hereafter see, the product of generalization. 
We perceive the length-relation between this line and 
that line, the size-relation between this area and 
that area, the relation of pitch between this note and 
that note, or, if we have good auditory memories, 
between this note and our auditory idea of the tenor 
A, the relation of color between this tint and that 
tint, or perhaps between our visual idea of the full 
red of the spectrum and the red of last night^s sun- 
set. Where we are actually perceiving the relation 
between two presentative impressions — the relation, 
for example, of the taste of this nectarine and that 
peach — we may, as before suggested, speak of it as 
presentative, and call it an '^^ impression of relation " ; 



90 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the " idea of relation " is then the re-presentation of 
a relation that has been perceived. But when we 
perceive the relation between two sense-ideas, as in 
the case of the red of the spectrum and that of last 
night's sunset, the relation is presentative though the 
ideas between which the relation is perceived are re- 
presentative. 

It will be noticed that perception makes new use 
of the old materials of sense-experience. In sense- 
experience all the data for at any rate the simpler 
objects of perception are already given ; but they 
are given in subconscious awareness, not in fully 
conscious focal perception. The impressions are 
given in the clear definiteness of focal consciousness ; 
the transitions between them are also given, but only 
in the half-light of subconsciousness. Attention has 
never been reflectively focussed upon them. When 
the clear illumination of attention is reflectively 
thrown upon them they become objects of percep- 
tion. That is what is meant by saying that percep- 
tion makes new use of the old materials of sense- 
experience. If one may so put it, the head and tail of 
the surrounding world is given in sense-experience ; 
but it needs perception to see the relation of head 
to tail in that experience. 

Perception thus presents to consciousness new ob- 
jects, namely, the relations which are perceived. But 
not only are there new objects in the focus ; the 
marginal region, and with it the whole field of con- 
sciousness, is modified, and profoundly modified, by 
the introduction of a new set of elements. Sense- 
experience deals with impressions of sense and their 
re-presentative ideas, and the margin or background 



PERCEPTION 91 

in sense-experience is constituted by elements of like 
order, presentative or re-presentative. The object of 
sense, set in such a margin, is the sencept. But 
when perception introduces the new elements which 
we term relations, these elements are, so to speak, 
woven into the margin or background of conscious- 
ness. An object of sense is now no longer a new im- 
pression, but this and something more. It is set in 
a background which perception has rendered rela- 
tional. To such an impression set in a subconscious 
relational background we may apply the term joercepf. 
When I look out, as I am now doing, across the blue- 
green waters of Weymouth Bay and see the headland 
of Portland against the horizon, this is not merely 
an impression of sense ; it is a percept, since it is set 
in a background of space-relations, wrought into the 
margin of my consciousness by all my past experience 
of such relations. And when I see a column of white 
spray suddenly rise from the water, I listen atten- 
tively, and after an interval of half a minute or more 
I hear, and even feel, the boom of a great gun. The 
Channel Squadron are ^^ prize-firing^' in the bay. 
The spirt of water I see, the boom of the cannon 
that I hear, the reverberations which roll along the 
bay from cliff to cliff, all these are for me not merely 
impressions of sense, they are raised to the level of 
percepts through their relational setting. And when 
the prolonged reverberation gives rise in my mind 
to the idea of thunder, this is not due merely 
to the natural resemblance in the sounds, but also 
to the influence of perceived similarity of rela- 
tions. 

The percept, then, is the point of application of 



92 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the ideas of relation with which the mind has heen 
stored by the exercise of the faculty of perception 
and, we may add, of those generalized ideas with 
which the next chapter will deal. 



CHAPTER V 

ANALYSIS Al^B GEN^ERALIZATION 

When" we analyze a substance chemically we split it 
up into its constituent elements. We might examine 
a drop of water with the highest powers of the micro- 
scope, and we should not be able to distinguish the 
constituent oxygen from the constituent hydrogen. 
But when we take pure water and by appropriate 
means analyze it chemically, we separate the constit- 
uent hydrogen from the constituent oxygen. We may 
term this kind of analysis dissociatmg analysis. But 
if instead of pure water we select such a substance as 
a piece of granite, we may analyze it to some extent 
without submitting it to the process of chemical dis- 
sociation. By careful examination with the naked 
eye or with a lens, we may distinguish the constitu- 
ent minerals, the quartz, the mica, the felspar, and 
so forth. We do not dissociate them in this case ; we 
leave them just as they were ; we merely distinguish 
them. And in doing so, we may fix our attention 
first on the quartz, to the subordination of the mica 
and the felspar ; then on the mica, to the subordina- 
tion of the other two constituents ; and then on the 
felspar in like manner. This we may call distinguish- 
ing analysis, as contrasted with the dissociating an- 

93 



94 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

alysis of chemistry. It is of distinguishing analysis, 
not of dissociating analysis, that I am now going to 
speak. 

We may treat any impression or series of impres- 
sions in a manner analogous to that in which we 
treated the impression of a piece of granite. We may 
single out certain constituents for focal attention to 
the more or less complete subordination of other con- 
stituents. But is not this just what we do in our 
daily practical experience ? Do we not have a focal 
impression and marginal constituents which are so 
far subordinated as to be relegated to the sub-con- 
scious background ? Yonder yacht that I see beat- 
ing up against the wind, am I not selecting that for 
focal attention, and practically neglecting the rest 
of the visual field, rocks, sea, sky, to say nothing of 
numerous other constituents, auditory, olfactory, 
tactual, and other, of the subconscious margin ? 
Certainly we have here the faculty which, applied 
to a new end, makes distinguishing analysis possible. 
But it is just in this special application that the dif- 
ference lies. When I fix my attention on the yacht 
to the practical neglect of so much that is marginal 
in consciousness, I do not do so for the purpose of 
analysis. But if I consider what was the nature of 
my state of consciousness when I looked at the yacht, 
directing my procedure to the special end of distin- 
guishing the focal impression from the marginal set- 
ting, then I take a step in analysis. In the analysis, as 
such, there is conscious and intentional reference to the 
relation of that which is distinguished to the subor- 
dinate residue from which it is thus distinguished. 

Let us, however, look at the matter in its objective 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 95 

aspect first ; for it is in this aspect, and this only, 
that we should teach our children to analyze. I 
pluck a pimpernel from the ground at my side, and 
distinguish root, stem, leaves, and flower ; and, con- 
tinuing my analysis, distinguish in the flowers, bracts, 
petals, stamens, and pistil. The analysis is purely 
objective ; I am not considering the subjective aspect 
of the states of consciousness. In distinguishing 
each part, and focussing my attention upon that, to 
the temporary subordination, but by no means the 
complete neglect, of the other parts, I have in view 
its relation to these other parts from which I am dis- 
tinguishing it. We may say, then, that this analysis 
with which we are now dealing is the art of making 
'predominant some particular element in a complex 
impression to the suhordination of the other elemeiits, 
and of perceiving the relation of the predominant 
element to the subordinate elements. There is prob- 
ably no subject better fitted than elementary obser- 
vational botany for training a child in this objective 
analysis. The several parts of a plant lend them- 
selves admirably to successive selection for predomi- 
nance ; the relations of the parts to each other, and 
of each to the whole, are comparatively simple ; and 
material for study is readily obtainable. Of course, 
the training must throughout be practical, in actual 
touch with the natural object. The teacher must 
refrain from introducing explanations beyond the 
grasp of the child^s mind. He must, in fact, have 
clear ideas of what he is teaching, and what mental 
faculty it is his object to train and strengthen. An 
occasional visit to a museum, when that is possible, 
will afford a great variety of objects on which the 



96 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

child may be taught to exercise his powers of analy- 
sis. In a country walk the elements of scenery may 
be made to serve the same end. The hill may be 
made focal and predominant, the valley being tem- 
porarily subordinated, and the relation of the valley 
to the hill brought home to perception, the slopes 
sweeping upward to constitute the high ground. 
Then the valley with its streamlet may be made pre- 
dominant, the hillsides being subordinate, and a new 
aspect of the relation may be emphasized in percep- 
tion — the hillsides sloping to the valley bed and form- 
ing the collecting ground for the waters of the 
streamlet. In a seaside ramble the analysis into 
headland and bay, and the relations they bear to 
each other, may similarly be brought out. Nor is it 
necessary to go to field or museum, to hillside or 
headland, to find materials for this purpose. The 
qualities of size, shape, color, weight, hardness, re- 
sistance, are possessed by the commonest solid ob- 
jects, and each of these qualities may be severally 
distinguished in analysis from the other qualities 
with which it is naturally associated ; each may in 
turn be made focal and predominant to the mar- 
ginal subordination of the others ; and the relations of 
each as predominant to the others as subordinate, 
may be brought hbme to perception. 

Subjective analysis, involving as it does intro- 
spection and close attention to the phenomena of 
consciousness, is not a matter for children. But the 
teacher may with advantage exercise himself in such 
analysis. He may distinguish in the subjective 
aspect of the impression the several sensations which 
constitute it, and may render now one, now another. 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 97 

predominant to the subordination of the others, and 
endeavor to perceive the relations which hold good 
between them. He may exercise himself in render- 
ing focal and predominant sensations, such as the 
motor sensations, which are normally subordinate — 
for example, the sensations which accompany the 
accommodation of the eyes for varying distances, or 
the motor sensations in writing, drawing, and other 
skilled activities. He may practise himself in ren- 
dering focal the perceptual part of his experience, 
and the relations which under ordinary circumstances 
are taken for granted and pass unheeded. He must 
remember that a good deal of experience which was 
once fully conscious and needed attention has long 
asro for him become subconscious and needs no at- 
tention ; and that the child is in the condition in 
which he himself once was, and which he can only 
realize by a special effort directed to that end. And 
as he carries on his introspective analysis he will 
come to understand more clearly how the states of 
consciousness which is naive sense-experience are 
sensed as wholes, comprise numerous constitutent 
elements which in analysis may be distinguished and 
rendered successively predominant, thus rendering 
possible the perception of the relations which hold 
good between them. 

Let us here notice that the process of perception 
which we considered in the last chapter in part in- 
volves and in part leads up to the analysis with which 
we are now dealing. "When we perceive the relative 
sweetness of two strawberries, or the relative weights 
of two pieces of metal, we make these particular 
qualities of the natural objects predominant, since it 
7 



98 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

is the relation in respect of these particular qualities 
that we are perceiving. So too when we are per- 
ceiving the relative lengths of two sticks, or pieces 
of string, or lines drawn upon paper or on the black- 
board, it is the length element in the impressions 
that we cause to predominate over the other charac- 
ters, such as the color, black or gray in the case of 
the line on paper, white on the blackboard. Thus 
the process of perception helps to lead up to that of 
analysis, since it necessitates the predominance in 
consciousness of that particular aspect of the impres- 
sions to which attention is directed in perceiving the 
relation. "Wherein lies the difference, then, between 
the predominance given in the act of perception and 
the predominance given in analysis ? Again we 
must answer, In the purpose and end in view. In 
perception we neglect or ignore such elements of the 
impressions as are not involved in the special relation 
which is the object of perception. They nowise 
concern us for the purposes of perceiving the relation. 
But in analysis our aim and object is to render a 
particular aspect of the impression predominant, 
with a view to perceiving its relations to other aspects 
of the impression which are temporarily subordinate. 
In the one case we neglect or ignore all those aspects 
of the impression that are not rendered predomi- 
nant ; in the other case we make them subordinate in 
order that we may perceive the relations which they 
bear to that which we are making for the time pre- 
dominant. "We analyze the plant into root, stem, 
leaves, flowers, and so forth, in order that we may 
perceive the relations which these parts bear to each 
other in the plant. 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 99 

The complement to analysis is synthesis, a fully 
conscious and intentional process, to be distinguished 
from the ^^ natural synthesis'" of which we before 
spoke. "When we have analyzed our plant into root, 
stem, leaves, flowers, etc, when we have perceived 
the relations which these parts bear to each other 
and to the whole of which they are parts, then we 
synthetically recombine the constituents in their due 
relations. Only when we have done this, and when 
we have perceived the relations of this object to other 
objects, does the plant stand out as a fully developed 
percept. We look at the plant with the same eyes ; 
it is still an object of sense-experience, but it is this 
and something more. It is set in a background of 
relations which have been duly perceived ; it is an 
object of an experience in whicb sensation and per- 
ception have been combined, and towards which each 
has contributed in due degree and proportion. 

Let us note how analysis and synthesis are com- 
bined and co-operate in spelling and in pronuncia- 
tion. Take, for example, the pronunciation of such 
a word as " flag."'' We pronounce the word rapidly, 
and regard it as a whole. But now let us analyze it. 
Pronouncing it slowly, and paying attention to the 
sounds and their accompanying vocalization-move- 
ments, we find four constituents, each of which is 
made predominant in turn to the subordination of 
the others ; the relations of each to the other being 
perceived. Having thus analyzed and perceived the 
relations of the analytic products, we recombine in 
accurately proportioned synthesis ; and the word 
'' fl^g," as we again rapidly pronounce it, is a def- 
inite percept. So too with spelling ; we analyze the 

L.ofC. 



100 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

word '^flag ^' as written or printed. We make each 
letter in turn predominant, and take note of its re- 
lation in the word to the other letter ; and then, 
taking in the whole word at a glance, we view it 
synthetically, recombining the products of our an- 
alysis. Finally, we correlate the two analyses, and 
perceive the points of similarity and the points of 
difference. There are four letters, as there are four 
sounds : the names we give to the first two pretty 
closely resemble to our ear the pronunciation-sounds 
in *' flag '' ; but the names we give to the last two 
differ markedly for the ear from the pronunciation- 
sounds which enter into the synthesis of the word 
''^flag" as pronounced. The object of spelling re- 
forms is to assimilate pronunciation-sounds and the 
sounds of the names we give to the constituent letters, 
to get rid of the anomaly of spelling the same sounds 
in different manners (as in the latter part of the 
words '^beau,^^ '^ queen,'' ^^mien," ^'serene," and 
*^ quinine "), and of spelling different sounds in the 
same manner (as in '' enough,^' "bough," "trough," 
"borough," and "hough"). 

Let us now pass to generalization. Attention has 
already been drawn to the fact that the objects of 
perception are particular relations. We perceive the 
relation of pitch between this note and that note, the 
relation of length between this line and that line, 
the relation of color between this leaf and that leaf. 
In all such cases of perception we are dealing with 
the relations between particulars. In the case of 
quantitative relations perception is also particular. 
We perceive that the weight of this piece of metal 
is twice the weight of that ; that this time interval 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 101 

is thrice that ; that this slip of paper is half the 
length of that slip. But it must soon strike the child 
who is exercising his faculty of perception, that the 
same relation holds good for a number of pairs of 
objects ; the objects exhibiting the relation differing 
while the relation itself remains unchanged. Two 
marbles are placed at a distance of a yard apart : the 
marbles may be removed, and pieces of stone, or bits 
of wood, or marks on the floor, may be substituted. 
The distance-relation is perceived to remain unaltered. 
Or the marbles, the pieces of stone, the bits of wood, 
the marks on the floor, may be arranged, a yard apart, 
in different parts of the room ; and the child may 
perceive that the space-relations are in all the cases 
similar. The distance-relation common to a number 
of distinct and separate perceptions is thus floated 
off, so to speak, from the particulars in and through 
which it is exhibited, and the child reaches the 
general idea of the distance which we call a yard. 
Again, the child may perceive that this piece of 
metal is twice the weight of that, this line twice the 
length of that, this time-interval twice as great as 
that ; and then further perceive that the quantitative 
relations are in all these cases the same. He thus 
gains a general idea of the numerical relation which 
we symbolize by the word " twice '^ ; the general idea 
being floated off from the particular cases in which 
it is exemplified. Such a general idea of relation 
thus involves the perception of the similarity of a 
number of special relations ; the distinguishing in 
analysis of the relations from the particular objects 
which exhibit the relations ; and the grouping of 
these similar relations under one general head. This 



102 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

grouping together of a number of relations, distin- 
guished through analysis, in virtue of their perceived 
similarity, is termed co7iceptio7i. 

Note, however, that conception, properly so called, 
is a fully conscious process performed with a definite 
end in view. The generalization from particulars is 
an intentional one. It involves an extension of that 
reflection to which allusion was made in the last 
chapter. For it is clear that if we are to perceive 
that the same relation holds good in a number of 
particular instances, and thus to conceive the relation- 
ship in general, we must look back reflectively, not 
only on the experience of a moment ago, but on that 
more prolonged experience during which the particu- 
lar instances were presented to consciousness. Note 
also that, whereas the particular relation which is the 
object of perception may be in such close touch with 
presentative impression that we may speak of it as 
itself an impression of relation, the generalized re- 
lation which is the object of conception is necessarily 
the outcome of attention directed to re-presentative 
experience, so that we cannot speak of a general im- 
pression of relation, but must speak of a general idea 
of relation. Impressions must always be particular ; 
ideas may be particular or general. The products 
of generalization are ideas, not impressions. 

In the development of experience, perception pre- 
cedes conception, which follows after a longer or 
shorter interval. Some psychologists would, how- 
ever, deny that this is so. They say that in percep- 
tion we apply a general conception to a particular 
case. We apply, for example, the general concep- 
tion which we symbolize by the word " half '" to the 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 103 

particular case of the weights of these two pieces of 
metal. They say, further, that the term '' weight " 
is itself symbolic of a general conception of which 
we merely see a particular example in this or that 
body which, as we say, possesses weight. Every 
term which we employ to express relations is, they 
say, expressive of a general idea, such as hardness, 
length, sweetness, color, and so forth. If, then, 
they argue, we are, in perception, applying a general 
conception in a particular instance, it is clear that 
the conception which we thus apply must precede the 
perception which consists in its special application. 

This sounds somewhat convincing ; and it may not 
at first be easy to see what reply is to be given to this 
contention. Moreover, it is perfectly true that when 
we perceive that an angle of 10° is twice an angle of 
5°, we are applying certain general conceptions to a 
particular case. It will be worth while, therefore — 
especially as the relation of perception to conception 
is one that it is important to make clear — to take some 
trouble in endeavoring to put the matter in what 
would seem to be its true light. 

Let us take a particular case. A child is given 
two pieces of metal, and is taught to perceive that 
the one is heavier than the other. Let us suppose 
that he succeeds in perceiving the relation which we 
wish to bring home to his perception. It is sym- 
bolized for him by that word '^ heavier.^' In perceiv- 
ing that the one piece of metal is heavier than the 
other, the child is not applying a general conception 
to the particular case. He has not yet reached a 
general conception of weight, and cannot reach it 
until he has accumulated a store of particular instances 



104 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

from which, by generalization, the conception can take 
form in his mind. The perception, then, for the 
child is quite particular, and not a case of the general 
exemplified in the particular. We proceed now to 
exercise him in this mode of perception. We give 
him a great number of pairs of material bodies to 
poise in his hands and tell us which is the heavier of 
the two. As he does so, he cannot fail ere long to 
perceive that the relation of a to l, which we call 
'^ heavier," is similar to the relation of c to d, which 
we also call '' heavier," and this again to the relation 
of e to/, called '^ heavier," and so on in a number of 
pairs of cases. As long as he is dealing with partic- 
ular pairs of cases he is perceiving that they are 
similar each to each ; he is perceiving the similarity 
between particular relations. But when it strikes 
him that all these cases are alike, that the word 
*' heavier," which was used in each case, applies to 
all ; when, his attention being drawn to this fact, he 
consciously and intentionally comprises them all in 
a general idea to which the common term '^ heavier " 
is applied ; then he not only perceives that they are 
similar each to each, but conceives their general simi- 
larity ; then the word " heavier " no longer stands 
only for a particular relation, perceived in this, that, 
and the other case, but it stands for the conception 
of a common relationship. 

It will be observed that we apply the same term 
*' heavier " both to the particular perception and to 
the general conception. No doubt this aids the child 
in generalizing and in reaching the conception. 
But it tends to obscure the fact that the process of 
perception is distinguishable from the process of con- 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 105 

ception. And when once the conception has been 
reached, the word ''heavier" is bound thenceforth 
to carry with it conceptual force. So that, after the 
conception has been reached^ when a child perceives, 
for example, that this small volume of mercury in 
one vessel is heavier than that large volume of water 
in the other vessel, he may not incorrectly be said to 
be appljdng his general conception '' heavier " to a par- 
ticular case in which it is exemplified. The sequence 
then would seem to be, first, a perception of heavier ; 
then other similar perceptions ; then the perception 
that these are similar, each to each ; then the concep- 
tion of their similarity and the generalization of the 
term '' heavier" and the ideas it expresses ; finally, 
new perceptions of like character carrying with them 
a conceptual import. 

Note, then, how perception and conception play 
backwards and forwards as experience develops and 
ripens. We begin with perception, and out of this 
there grows, through generalization, conception. In 
further acts of perception we view the results in their 
bearing upon the conception we have already reached, 
and thus make this conception fuller and more ade- 
quate. Every step in perception makes the concep- 
tion wider and richer ; and the enriched conception 
renders further perception less isolated and more full 
of meaning. In conception we are floated off from 
particulars and rise into the region of thought ; in 
perception we bring back our conceptual thought 
into touch with practical experience. When once 
the power of generalization has been developed, we 
are terribly apt to apply it hastily and on inadequate 
grounds of perception ; it is only by constantly 



106 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

bringing it into touch with further and more exten- 
sive perception in practical experience that we cor- 
rect the hastiness and inadequacy of our generaliza- 
tions and give them serviceable validity and reality. 
It is essential that the teacher should bear this in 
mind, that he may guide the child, not only in the 
acquisition of general ideas, but in constantly sub- 
mitting them to the touchstone of experience. 

To the products of the double process of percep- 
tion and conception, as employed for a common end, 
we should apply the word knowledge. Sense-expe- 
rience is not knowledge, though it presents us with 
the raw material from which knowledge may be elab- 
orated ; perception by itself is not knowledge, for 
knowledge involves the generalization of particulars, 
the importing into them of general meaning. Only 
when perception and conception act and react on 
each other in the way we have just been considering, 
does knowledge, properly so called, take form and 
shape. 

Special reference should here be made to quantita- 
tive relations. Their generality would seem to be 
part of their peculiar nature ; and here, if anywhere, 
we might expect conception to precede perception. 
It may, indeed, be contended that while we may per- 
ceive this piece of metal to be heavier than that piece 
of metal, prior to any general conception of ^' heavier," 
we could not possibly perceive the one to be twice as 
heavy as the other, prior to any general conception 
of the meaning of the word " twice " and the idea it 
conveys. The idea '' twice " is, it may be said, in its 
essential nature general, and would be without mean- 
ing if applied to a merely particular relation of this 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 107 

weight to that weight. We may agree with this con- 
tention to this extent — that it is extremely improb- 
able that the child would acquire his first perception 
of the relation of two to one by means of perceiving 
the relative heaviness of two pieces of metal. It is 
quite likely, therefore, that when the child perceives 
the quantitative relations of heaviness, he has already 
reached the conception which we symbolize by the 
word 'Hwice." AVe may not so readily agree, how- 
ever, to the assertion that the child reaches a concep- 
tion of the relation of one to two before he perceives 
the relation in particular instances. There can be 
little doubt that the child reaches his conception of 
^Hwice'' in just the same way as he reaches his con- 
ception of '' heavier.'' He first senses the difference 
of one thing from two things. They form different 
impressions in sense-experience. He then perceives 
the difference as a relation of a particular kind. 
When he has perceived it in a number of particular 
instances, he generalizes and reaches a conception of 
the relation. Then, and not till then, the relation 
has for him a general meaning. It is some time be- 
fore he comprises in his generalization the relation 
of two to one as applied to separate objects, and the 
relation of two to one as applied to continuous quan- 
tities. As I have before mentioned, I can myself 
remember being puzzled in the matter. I had not 
at that time generalized sufficiently to reach the con- 
ception of the relation of two to one applying both to 

such cases as . . to . , and to . But 

from their very varied and general applicability we 
may surmise that the perception of numerical rela- 
tions very early gives rise to the conception of such re- 



108 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

lations. And, in general, that conception, though 
it never precedes, follows hard upon the heels of per- 
ception. As before mentioned, our words for partic- 
ular relations, as perceived, are the same as those 
which we employ for the relations as generalized and 
conceived ; and this must aid the child in rapidly 
passing on from perception to conception. The gen- 
eralization of experience in conception was not al- 
luded to in the last chapter, for the sufficient reason 
that our object then was to get clear ideas of the 
nature of particular relations, for which purpose it 
was necessary to keep distinct, in description and ap- 
prehension, mental processes which, though they take 
origin in close association with each other, are none 
the less themselves distinct. 

The relation of perception to conception having 
now been illustrated, we may pass on to consider the 
relation of the percept to the concept. The term 
'* percept" was applied to an impression set in a 
background which perception has rendered relational. 
When the child is looking at a plant, in which the re- 
lation of root to stem, stem to leaves, and leaves to 
flowers, has been perceived, the plant is no longer for 
him an impression of mere sense-experience. It is 
a percept : the impression is set in a subconscious 
relational background. But when the child has ex- 
amined a number of plants, and has generalized his 
perceptions so as to reach general conceptions of the re- 
lationships involved ; when he has not only analyzed 
some particular plant, so as to distinguish the several 
parts, but has analyzed a number of plants into parts 
more or less similar and more or less similarly related ; 
when he has further recombined the generalized prod 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 109 

nets of his distinguishing analysis into a generalized 
plant ; — then he reaches a concept. Henceforward, 
when he looks at a plant, he sees it not merely as an 
object of sense-experience ; not merely as a percept, 
or impression set in a background of perceived rela- 
tions : he sees in it a particular exemplification of his 
general concept '^ plant." And just as there is a con- 
stant to and fro play from perception to conception 
and back again on perception, so is there a constant 
to and fro play from the percept to the concept and 
back again on the concept. Our concepts, like our 
conceptions, are terribly apt to be vitiated by hasty 
generalization, and also by imperfect analysis and in- 
complete synthesis ; but by constantly bringing them 
into touch with perceptual experience, we render 
them clearer, more real, in closer accordance with 
the natural relations of the things from which they 
have been floated off in conceptual thought. Every 
application of the concept to the touchstone of prac- 
tical experience renders it richer and more exact ; 
and the richer and more exact concept sheds its light 
on the percept and gives it fresh meaning for thought. 
Thus by action and reaction our knowledge grows in 
range and exactness and in general meaning. 

The percept precedes the concept in natural order 
of genesis just as perception precedes conception. 
At what exact time, in the development of the child's 
mind, concepts are formed, it is very difficult to say, 
because the same word may, as we have seen, stand 
for a sense-idea, a percept, or a concept. Take the 
word ^' sheep," for example : in his earliest experience 
this word is associated in the little child's mind with 
the sense-impression, and tends through association 



no PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

to call up or suggest a sense-idea. Probably this 
sense-idea is generic. If the child has seen, as he 
probably will have seen, a number of sheep, each dif- 
fering from the others in minute, unnoticed points 
of difference, the word ^' sheep " is not likely to sug- 
gest the sense-idea of any one of them, but a com- 
posite sense-idea, with the blended features of a 
number of sense-impressions. Such a composite 
sense-idea is termed generic, to distinguish it from a 
general idea. The generic sense-idea is not a volun- 
tary product. It results from the slight individual 
variations of the impressions of which it is re-present- 
ative. A great number of our sense-ideas are thus 
generic. Hence, if we are asked to visualize a sheep, 
the visual idea or image does not precisely resemble 
any one sheep we have ever seen^ but the blended 
features of many sheep. The general idea, on the 
other hand, is the result of the conscious and volun- 
tary exercise of the power of generalizing. No doubt 
the natural tendency to form generic sense-ideas is 
utilized when we voluntarily generalize ; just as the 
natural tendency to make the impression focal in a 
marginal setting is utilized when we voluntarily 
analyze. In mental development we are constantly 
putting old powers to new uses. 

The word '^ sheep " may, then, suggest to the mind 
of the little child a generic sense-idea. At a later 
period, when its eyes, ears, mouth, head, trunk, 
legs, and tail (if it have any left) have been indicated, 
and their relations to each other and to the sheep as 
a whole, together with the relation of the sheep to the 
grass and the field, have been grasped, the word 
*' sheep " may suggest to the child a percept, an im- 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION HI 

pression or idea set in a backgronnd of perceived 
relations. Yet later, when the child has begun to 
generalize and to build the general results of the 
analysis of many sheep into a synthetic concept, then 
the word '^ sheep " may symbolize the result of this 
more complex mental process. The word ''sheep" 
(and the same is true of common nouns in general) 
may stand for a generic sense-idea, for a percept, or 
for a concept. And when a child, who cannot as yet 
tell us much, if anything, concerning his mental pro- 
cesses, uses the word, it is extremely difficult to say 
what stage of development his use indicates. 

Classification takes its origin in combined analysis 
and generalization. In the fully-developed form to 
which it would be well to restrict the word as a 
technical term, it is a fully conscious and voluntary 
process — a process performed with the special end of 
classification in view. No doubt, there is a prelim- 
inary involuntary process which leads up to the con- 
sciously intentional process. The child, who applies 
the same word *' dog" to a number of animals, dif- 
fering somewhat markedly from each other, but 
having certain distinctive features in common, is 
carrying out a process which is preliminary to and 
which leads up to classification. But when, through 
the application of analysis, the child pays attention 
to the number of legs this, that, and the other 
animal possesses ; the dog and cat with four legs, the 
bee and beetle with six legs, the crab, lobster, and 
crayfish with ten legs, man and barn-door fowl with 
two legs ; and when he has generalized the knowledge 
thus acquired ; he is ready consciously and inten- 
tionally to classify the animals into quadrupeds. 



112 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

hexapods, decapods, and bipeds. The fully con- 
scious and intentional nature of the process is seen in 
the fact that he is able to define the class in which 
he places the objects classified. The class of quad- 
rupeds, he will say, comprises those animals which 
have four legs, the class of decapods those which 
have ten legs. The child should be exercised in 
conscious classification, and in the clear definition of 
the classes. Of course, quite simple cases should at 
first be selected. And here, again, scarcely any sub- 
ject can be found which will afford more satisfactory 
material for training the child in classification than 
elementary observational botany. 

Finally, we must glance at the relation of abstraction 
to the processes we have been considering. We have 
seen that in the process of analysis we make predomi- 
nant now one, now another, constituent element in 
that which we analyze. We give separate names to 
these predominant elements that we distinguish. We 
distinguish, for example, the yellow in the flower of 
the gorse, and we give it the separate name '^ yellow. ^^ 
The distinguishable color sticks, so to speak, to the 
separate name, and enables us to float it off in thought 
from the flower which is yellow. In analysis we do 
not get further than distinguishing the yellow, mak- 
ing it predominant while the other qualities of the 
flower are subordinate. But the use of the word 
^^ yellow^' helps us to do more than to distinguish : 
through its aid we can to some extent separate this 
quality ; can talk about it, and in some degree think 
about it, apart from the flower which we perceive to 
be yellow. Such an idea of quality separated off in 
language, and to some extent in thought, from the 



ANALYSIS AND GENERALIZATION 113 

other qualities with which it is normally associated, 
is an abstract idea ; and the process by which we 
thus separate it off is termed abstraction. When we 
think, too, of the space-relation which we term '' a 
yard,'* apart from any objects by which this relation 
of distance is exemplified, we have an abstract idea 
of relation. 

Abstraction and generalization usually go hand in 
hand. But they are not necessarily connected. I 
remember the first flower of that beautiful orchid, 
the Dysa grandijlora, which I plucked on the slopes 
of Table Mountain. I could form to some extent an 
abstract idea of its peculiar color, which resembles 
no other tint that I have ever seen. Such an 
abstract idea would be particular, and not gener- 
alized. 

Probably we differ a good deal in our power of 
forming abstract ideas. For many of us abstract 
ideas are remarkably vague and hazy, and have a 
strong tendency to particularize themselves, when 
we try to think clearly about them, in perceptual 
ideas, thus ceasing to be any longer abstract. The 
words which stand for these abstract ideas are the 
abstract nouns, such as size, sweetness, color, edi- 
bility, kindness, virtue. But directly we begin to 
try and make them clear to thought, a particular ex- 
ample is apt to become focal. And in illustrating 
them to the child we are forced to adduce particular 
examples ; we illustrate weight by handing the child 
a heavy substance, color by pointing to the red of a 
rose, kindness by reference to some kind action. 
Thus here, again, there is a continual play to and 
fro, from conception to perception, and back again to 
8 



114 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

conception. In this way do our abstract ideas become 
floated off from particular cases in which they are 
exemplified ; while the particular cases themselves 
receive a new import and meaning as practical em- 
bodiments of our abstract ideas. Thus the particular 
is absorbed into the general body of our knowledge ; 
while our knowledge keeps in close touch with prac- 
tical experience. 



CHAPTEE VI 

DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 

There are two little words that are constantly on 
the lips of children : How ? and Why ? The answer 
we give to the first is a descriptive answer ; the 
answer we give to the second is explanatory. We 
may describe how an iron steamship floats upon 
water ; we explain why it floats notwithstanding its 
enormous weight, and the fact that the materials of 
which it is built are heavier than water. We may 
describe the commercial greatness of London, the 
ships coming and going, the lines of railway con- 
verging upon this centre, the goods imported and 
exported, the varied occupations of its multitude of 
workers ; we may describe how the town has grown 
in wealth and size during a long period of years ; 
but we explain why it is so great, and why the 
growth and accumulation of wealth have taken place 
in London and not elsewhere. We may describe how 
the Battle of Waterloo was fought and won ; and we 
may try to explain why it was fought and why the 
French were defeated. 

In both description and explanation we are deal- 
ing with relations ; but in description the relations 
are particular, while in explanation general relations 
115 



116 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

are involved. Try and describe anything yon like, 
the simplest fact, the simplest object, the simplest 
natural occurrence, and see if you can do so without 
reference to relations — the particular relations in- 
volved in what you are describing. If one describes 
the position of an object, one is stating its relations 
in space to other objects. If one describes the ob- 
ject itself, one must refer to its size, shape, weight, 
and so forth, all of which involve relations. The 
simplest occurrence has its time-limitations, and 
cannot be adequately described without some refer- 
ence to them. Of course we are supposing that the 
description has for its purpose a suggestion, through 
the intervention of language, of the real nature of 
that which is described. Even the vaguest descrip- 
tion must give some idea of this nature ; and this is 
impossible without reference to the perceived rela- 
tions. The relations involved in description are, 
however, I repeat, particular and perceptual ; though 
they may be, and indeed usually are for rational be- 
ings, set in a background of generalized conceptual 
thought. This particular nature of the relations in- 
volved in description may perhaps be questioned. 
That an island is a tract of land entirely surrounded 
by water is, it may be said, a perfectly exact de- 
scription of what an island is in general. It is not 
a description of a particular island, but holds good 
for any island. The relations are generalized. That 
a circle is a plane figure of which all the radii are 
equal, is an exact description applicable to any circle. 
The general relations of all circles, not the particular 
relations in any one circle, are described. In strict- 
ness, however, we have, in these cases, not descrip- 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 117 

tions, properly so called, but definitions. We are 
not describing an island or a circle ; we are defining 
the concept island or the concept circle. It is, no 
doubt, merely a question of the exact sense in which 
we are to use the word "description." But the ex- 
act and accurate use of words begets exact and ac- 
curate modes of thought, which cannot be too sedu- 
lously cultivated by the teacher. Distinguishing, 
then, as thus suggested, between the definition of 
general concepts on the one hand, and description on 
the other, we may say that the latter word, in its 
more restricted sense, stands for a process by which 
particular relations are set forth ; that it involves 
perception, but does not necessarily involve more 
than perception ; though, since the language we em- 
ploy is full of general import, the description may 
be, and usually is, set in a conceptual background. 

In explanation, on the other hand, not only are we 
always dealing with relations, but generalization and 
the conceptual element are always present. They 
are necessary factors in the process. An explanation 
can never be wholly particular and confined to par- 
ticulars. The relations peculiar and special to ex- 
planation are those which we condense in such words 
as *' therefore" and "because." They are called 
logical relations. Let us now see if we can give any- 
thing like a real explanation without reference to the 
general and the conceptual. Suppose I show a child 
that a cork floats, and accompany my demonstration 
by a description. The child asks me why it floats. 
If I say, " Because it stays at the top of the water," 
I am not giving the child any real explanation of the 
fact. I am merely describing the fact in other words. 



118 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

To explain that it floats because it floats, is no 
explanation at all. If I say, however, that it floats 
because it is lighter than water, I seem to be giving 
an explanation which is wholly particular ; in which 
I do not go beyond this particular cork and that basin 
of water. But even this is no true explanation. It 
will not satisfy a quick-witted child. He will ask 
why its being lighter than water makes it float. We 
can only answer this question by reference to certain 
general properties of bodies in accordance with which 
they invariably, if free to move among each other, 
arrange themselves, under the influence of the earth's 
attraction, in order of weight from the greatest to 
the least. 

Before proceeding further, let me say that it is of 
great importance that the teacher should clearly grasp 
the distinction between description and explanation, 
and should realize the fact of the invariable general 
nature of true exjolanation. It is one of the distin- 
guishing features of good method in exposition that 
description should be kept apart from explanation. 
Many people use the two words without discrimi- 
nation. They say, ^^ Let me explain to you where 
the book may be found in the library ;" or, ^^I will 
explain how you are to do such and such a thing.'' 
Or they say, '^ We will now describe why it is that a 
stone falls to the ground ; " or, " Describe how it is 
that a balloon rises in the air." I have already noted 
that the word "describe " is often used for " define." 
We see in examination papers such questions as : 
Describe a cape, a promontory, an isthmus ; and so on. 
The true answer to this would be to describe some 
particular cape, promontory, and isthmus. But wliat 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 119 

is intended is : Define cape (not a cape), promontory, 
isthmus ; and so on. 

Both description and explanation presuppose some 
one to whom or for whose sake we describe and ex- 
plain. They refer to the action of the giver. Un- 
fortunately, we have no two corresponding technical 
terms for the answering action of the receiver. When 
we mentally grasp either a description or an explana- 
tion, we commonly say that we understand it. It 
may be well, though much has been written on the 
understanding in a technical sense, to employ this 
word broadly and comprehensively, as is done in com- 
mon speech, and to use technical terms to correspond 
respectively to description and explanation. Both 
etymology and good authority would seem to justify 
the use of the terms ^' apprehend " and '' appre- 
hension " in correspondence to describe and descrip- 
tion, and the use of '' comprehend" and '^ compre- 
hension '' in correspondence to explain and explana- 
tion. One who readily understands a description, 
then, has good powers of apprehension ; one who 
readily understands an explanation has good powers 
of comprehension. 

The next thing to notice with regard to description 
and explanation is that they both presuppose analysis, 
while explanation necessarily presupposes generaliza- 
tion as well. We describe this pebble we have found 
on the beach as oval, gray, moderately heavy, 
tolerably hard, and made of limestone. In doing so, 
we make predominant in succession the several salient 
features of the object, and this, as we have seen, is 
just what is characteristic of the process of analysis. 
In the corresponding act of apprehension we take 



120 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

these several features, given to us, from the nature 
of the case, in succession, and combine them by an 
act of synthesis into a whole. Not until the several 
features are thus combined can we be said to appre- 
hend the description as a whole. Suppose a child 
asks, ''Why has the pebble this rounded form?" 
We give him as a preliminary answer, '^ Because it 
has been rolled about by the waves." And if he 
then asks — as we should encourage him to ask — 
** But why does the rolling of it by the weaves give it 
a rounded form ? " we should, if opportunity occurs, 
take him down to the beach, show him how the waves 
are rolling the pebbles over each other and knocking 
them against one another ; describe in particular 
cases how each stone has its angles knocked off and 
rubbed down ; and when he has apprehended this 
description, get him to comprehend the generality of 
the result. All the pebbles are thus rounded. It is, 
given sufficient time, the universal and uniform re- 
sult of this mode of natural action. When he has 
comprehended this generality of the effect produced, 
we give him the true explanation of the rounded 
form : *' Because the pebble has been rolled about 
by the waves, and it is found that such rolling al- 
ways gives rise to a rounded form." This explanation, 
and its due comprehension, involve analysis, for we 
are making the shape predominant to the temporary 
subordination of other features presented by the 
pebble ; and it presupposes generalization, for we 
explain it by showing that it is a particular example 
of the action of a general law. 

Let us take another example to show how explana- 
tion is the reference of the particular to the general. 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 121 

A good many years ago, when I was a young student, 
a clever lad in Cornwall asked me the old question, 
** AVhy does a stone fall to the ground ?" Not wish- 
ing to put him off with the long-sounding words, 
*' Universal gravitation," I replied, '' Because it is 
heavy." '' But a feather is not heavy and yet it falls 
to the ground," was the prompt answer. I replied 
that the feather was relatively heavier than the air. 
The lad was silent for a moment, and then said, 
** That's just one of the things I want to know : does 
the air fall to the ground and collect there like water 
in a pond, only we cannot see it because we are in it 
and it is invisible ? " I saw that this lad's powers of 
comprehension were fully equal to the occasion, and 
explained the whole matter as best I could. I told 
him that he was quite right in supposing that the 
air, like the stone and the feather, was attracted by 
the earth ; I pointed out the universality of gravi- 
tation as a law of nature ; and then reverting to his 
first question, I said, ^' You now see that we explain 
the fall of the stone as a particular case of the action 
of a law that is universal in its generality. " He was 
again silent for a moment, and then asked, ''^But 
what makes the earth attract it after all ? " I 
laughed, and said, " You're a philosopher ! Nobody 
can answer that question. Perhaps you may live to 
find it out, or at any rate to understand the solution 
when it comes, as come it may." 

The explanation of the fall of a stone by reference 
to universal gravitation is a valid explanation ; but 
the explanation is partial and incomplete, not final 
and ultimate. We cannot give a final and ultimate 
explanation of any of the phenomena of nature. We 



122 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

explain this, that, or the other natural occurrence by 
a reference from the particular to the general ; but 
if we are asked, '' Why are these general laws what 
we find them to be ?" we can only reply, ^' Because 
that is how nature is constituted/^ And if we are 
further pressed with the question, ^^ But why is 
nature thus constituted?" we can only, if we are 
honest, reply that we do not know. Ultimate ex- 
planations are beyond our reach. 

Kemembering, then, that by explanation is meant 
the reference of the particulars, which we seek to ex- 
plain, to such generalizations as are within the reach 
of our mental grasp, we may next note that the state- 
ments of these generalizations are what we term 
natural laws. Such statements are of the nature of 
definitions. AVe define the law of gravitation, for 
example, as follows : That attraction of any two 
natural bodies for each other which is termed gravi- 
tation is directly proportional to the sum of their 
masses, and inversely proportional to the distance of 
their centres of gravity. The generalization thus ac- 
curately defined forms the standard to which we refer 
the particulars we wish to explain by its means. It 
is a generalized summary of a great number of partic- 
ular observations ; but it contains something more ; 
it contains the assumption that this generalization 
from a great, but still necessarily limited, number of 
observations is universally true. That assumption 
we can never conclusively prove ; we rest our as- 
surance of its truth on the fact that no single excep- 
tion to its validity has been established on the basis 
of exact observation. Our attitude towards it may 
therefore be thus expressed : We have found it to 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 123 

hold good in a great number of particular cases, and 
shall assume that it holds good in all cases, until 
evidence to the contrary is forthcoming. Our whole 
process of explanation involves this assumption. We 
explain a new instance of gravitational attraction by 
reference to a generalization from old instances ; and 
in doing so we must assume that what holds good for 
the old instances also holds good for the new instance. 
As this is true of all explanation, from the simplest 
to the most recondite, the teacher, who has many 
things to explain, should clearly grasp the basis upon 
which his procedure rests. 

It is obvious that adequate description should always 
be made the precursor to explanation. Not to do so 
is to proceed on the method, not of education, but 
of cramming. The explanation must never be al- 
lowed to be a mere statement committed to memory, 
and remembered, if remembered at all, through the 
association by contiguity of its constituent parts. 
We must always bear in mind that the comprehension 
of the learner is to meet and embrace the explana- 
tion of the teacher ; that comprehension involves 
generalization ; and that generalization is impossible 
unless the particulars which form its raw material be 
supplied. One of the difficulties the teacher has to 
face — I assume that he knows the subject he pro- 
fesses to teach — is that he possesses a background of 
knowledge which is absent from the mind of his 
pupils. The explanation for him is supported by a 
body of evidence which he could at any moment 
summon from the storehouse of memory, and the net 
result of which is present in the background of his 
consciousness. The explanation he gives is there- 



124 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

fore, for him, real and valid, because it is the result 
of generalization from all these particulars. lie 
gives it to his pupils, and expects it to be real for 
them. But it will not be real unless he have stored 
the memory of those whom he teaches with a 
sufficient body of evidence, the net result of which is 
present in the background of their consciousness. 
One of the commonest faults in exposition is the 
putting forward of explanations before an adequate 
preparation in description has been systematically 
afforded. 

It must be remembered, too, that the adequate ap- 
prehension of what is described with sufficient fulness 
of detail, is after all only a second-hand way of get- 
ting at the facts. Second-hand information, to be 
of real value in mental development, must have a 
first-hand basis in practical experience. Hence, if 
description is a necessary precursor to explanation, so 
too is a training in individual ohservatioii a necessary 
accompaniment to description, however careful and 
adequate. We can only rightly apprehend and, as 
we say, fully realize, a description of that for which 
individual observation has paved the way, by affording 
to consciousness sense-impressions to be utilized re- 
presentatively as sense-ideas. Descriptive geology, 
for example, deals with the nature, mode of arrange- 
ment, and fossil or mineral contents of the strata 
which are exposed on the surface of the earth, and 
with the manner in which these strata are worn away 
by rain and rivers and the waves of the sea. Now, if 
the student makes himself practically acquainted with 
the strata in any district in which they are well ex- 
posed, if he examines them along any stretch of 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 125 

varied coast-line, if in actual contact with nature he 
perceives for himself the relations of the strata in bay 
and promontory, in hill and valley ; if, further, he 
have an opportunity of examining any volcanic 
district and the relation therein of beds and dykes 
of lava to accumulations of ashy debris ; and if he 
become practically acquainted with a district in 
which, as in Dartmoor, great bosses of granite or 
other plutonic rock rise up from amid surrounding 
strata ; if he have thus laid the foundations in practical 
observation, and stored his mind with sense-images 
and with perceptual ideas, then he is in a position to 
apprehend any geological description, whether the 
district described be in Africa, Asia, or America, 
Without some such preparation he will have no re- 
alizing apprehension of descriptions, no matter how 
vivid, since he will have no first-hand experience 
in the light of which to interpret that which he has 
not seen for himself, but which is put before him 
through the description of another. 

It is clear from what has just been said that 
geology is not a subject which, unless in exceptional 
circumstances, can be extensively utilized in afford- 
ing a training in observation as preparatory to and 
associated with the apprehension of description. 
There is no subject which, for this purpose, is more 
convenient than elementary, observational, and de- 
scriptive botany. The boy or girl who has carefully 
observed, under guidance, the structure of a few 
flowers, is in a position to apprehend the description 
of a great number of flowers. Material for the pur- 
pose is readily obtainable. The relations to be per- 
ceived do not present great difficulties ; and the parts 



/ 



126 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

can be dissected without that messiness which makes 
zoological dissection insufferably distasteful to many 
people. Furthermore, such observation and the ap- 
prehension of description will lend a fresh charm to 
field and hedgerow and garden, and will lead up to 
the comprehension of generalizations of wide range 
and of deep interest. For in every stage of mental 
development, observation, the apprehension of de- 
scription, and the comprehension of explanation 
should be made continually to play into each other's 
hands. If observation leads up to apprehension, this 
faculty in return quickens observation ; if apprehen- 
sion is the necessary precursor to comprehension, 
this faculty gives a new meaning to all that is ap- 
prehended, and a new zest to individual observation. 
The teacher who realizes this will so arrange his 
course of instruction as to afford opportunities for 
the interaction of the several faculties employed. 

To observation in certain subjects we are able to 
add ex^y er 1771671 f. In experiment we employ special 
means to facilitate the observation of particular 
phenomena. It is a means of analysis by which the 
phenomena we wish to observe are, by artificial 
methods, rendered predominant and brought within 
easy reach of perception. There are certain phenom- 
ena of nature which, by reason of their magnitude, 
or by reason of their minuteness, by reason of the 
slow sweep of their rhythm, or by reason of the ex- 
treme quickness of their rhythm, do not readily come 
within the range of our perception. These may be 
illustrated by experimental methods. Other phenom- 
ena, by reason of their intricacy under natural con- 
ditions, are difficult of observation. Experiment 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 127 

gets rid of the disturbing factors, brings out into 
artificial prominence that which we wish to study, 
and thus renders the exact observation of this pre- 
dominant factor less difficult. 

Elementary physics and very elementary chemistry 
are, of all subjects which deal with natural phe- 
nomena, the best for the purpose of affording a train- 
ing in the experimental method. The experiments 
should, so far as possible, be from the first exact and 
quantitative, so as to afford a training in the perception 
of numerical and quantitative relations. Let us con- 
sider a simple example in some detail, for the purpose 
of illustration. We take a lath of boxwood, two feet 
long, to act as a lever. Across the middle on the 
lower side is a notch which fits on to a triangular ful- 
crum. The upper surface of the lever is marked 
with a scale of inches, extending on either side of the 
middle line above the fulcrum, and numbered from 
this line outwards. We have also a box of weights — 
10, 20, 30, 50, 60, and 100 grains. We now make 
experiments in balancing the weights on the lever. 
We take first the 10 gr. and the 20 gr. weights. 
Placing the 10 gr. at the end of the lever on one side, 
where it is marked 12, we at first put the 20 gr. 
weight in the same position on the other side. The 
20 gr. weight outbalances the 10 gr. We shift it 
along towards the fulcrum, and find that, when it 
just balances the 10 gr., it is exactly over the 6 inch 
mark — that is to say, it is half the distance from the 
fulcrum of the 10 gr. weight. We then put the 30 
gr. at the end over the 12 inch mark ; and, taking 
the 60 gr. weight, shift it too along the lever. It 
balances the 30 gr. so soon as it is over the 6 inch 



128 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

mark. So that in each case the double weight is at 
half distance. We at once try the 100 gr. and 50 gr. 
weights in a similar manner, and see that they ex- 
emplify the same rule. Then we put the 30 gr. at 
distance 10 and the 60 gr. at distance 5, and again 
find that they balance. We try the experiment in a 
number of ways ; and, finding the rule always holds 
good, we lead the pupil on to the generalization — 
The double weight must always be placed at half the 
distance. When this has been comprehended, we 
may put the experiment on one side, and describe 
that if we put the 10 gr. weight at the end of the 
lever, over the 12 inch mark, we must place the 30 gr. 
weight over the 4 inch mark on the opposite side. 
When the description is apprehended, we may show 
the experiment, and allow observation to confirm 
the description. By further descriptions, confirmed 
in each case by observation, we may lead up to the 
wider generalization (if the pupils are at a sufficiently 
advanced stage to comprehend it) — That the distance 
is always inversely proportional to the weight, exem- 
plifying the generalization by describing how 3 times 
the weight must be placed at -J of the distance ; 4 
times the weight at i of the distance ; and bringing 
it home to observation by placing the 10 gr. at one 
end over the 12 inch mark, and the 60 gr., which is 
6 times the weight, over the 2 inch mark, which is ^ 
the distance, and showing that they balance. With 
more advanced pupils it may be shown, by balancing 
the lever on a piece of string instead of a fulcrum, 
that when the weights balance they swing evenly 
round the central point, the smaller weight perform- 
ing the larger circle, the greater weight a less circle, 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 129 

This central point is called the common centre of 
mass of the system. And in this way the experiment 
may be made to illustrate the fact, that the earth 
and moon are swinging round their common centre 
of mass, which, since the mass of the earth is 80 
times that of the moon, is 80 times nearer to the 
centre of the earth than to the centre of the moon. 

It is not infrequently the case that when certain 
natural phenomena have been carefully observed and 
accurately described, two or more alternative expla- 
nations are possible. Such alternative explanations 
are termed hypotheses. To decide between them, we 
need what is termed a crucial observation or experi- 
ment. We see, for example, the sun, moon, stars, 
and planets rise in the east, sweep across the heavens, 
and set in the west. ]N"ow, it is a generalization 
from a great number of observations, that the ap- 
parent movement of a body external to ourselves may 
be due (1) to the actual movement of that body 
while we are stationary, or (2) to our own actual move- 
ment, the external body being stationary, or (3) to the 
difference between its movement and our own. The 
apparent diurnal movements of the sun, moon, and 
stars may be due, then, to the rotation of the heavens 
round the earth, or to the rotation of the earth, .or to 
a difference between the rotation of the heavens and 
that of the earth. These are the alternative hypoth- 
eses on which the observed phenomena may be ex- 
plained. In times gone by the generally accepted 
hypothesis was that the heavens rotated around the 
earth. K"ow, as we all know, the accepted hypothesis 
is that the earth rotates on its axis once in about 
twenty-four hours. AYhat has convinced us that this is 
8 



130 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the true explanation ? What was the crucial observa- 
tion or experiment ? 

Suppose we set a pendulum swinging quite freely. 
Then the direction of the plane of its swing will re- 
main unaltered unless something interferes with it 
from without. Why should it alter ? There is no 
generalization which enables us to answer this 
question except by saying that there is no reason why it 
should alter ; but, on the other hand, there is a very 
wide generalization to the effect that bodies remain 
in their state of rest or of uniform motion, except in 
so far as they are influenced from without. Let us, 
however, put the matter to the test of experiment. 
Set a pendulum (a weight at the end of a fine thread 
will serve the purpose) swinging in a cage or in a 
pail. Now, while it is swinging, turn the cage or the 
pail round, making the point from which the weight 
is suspended the axis of its rotation. You will find 
that the plane of swing remains unaltered in direction. 
Thus we obtain experimental proof of the constancy 
of the plane of oscillation. We are now in a position 
to apply experiment to our special problem. A long 
heavy pendulum is suspended from a lofty ceiling, 
with special precautions to secure perfect freedom of 
oscillation ; if now this be set a-swinging at 12 noon, 
and the direction of its swing be carefully noted, by 
stretching a string, for example, beneath and parallel 
with the swinging-point ; and if, after leaving it for 
three hours, the pendulum and the string be again 
observed, it will be found that the point is no longer 
oscillating parallel with the string, but across it at an 
angle the precise value of which depends on the lati- 
tude of the place. Since, then, the plane of oscilla- 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 131 

tion of the pendulum has remained unaltered, it must 
be the string that has moved. But the string was fixed 
to the floor, and the floor to the solid earth. Hence it 
is the earth that has twisted round. And it can be 
shown that the amount of twisting is just that which 
should be produced if the earth is rotating once on 
its axis in twenty-four hours. This was the great 
French physicist Foucault's crucial experiment. 
There are others ; but this suffices for purposes of 
illustration. 

The validity of an explanation may thus be estab- 
lished by means of a crucial experiment or observa- 
tion. Let us now pass on to consider the special form 
in which an explanation, so established, may be justi- 
fied at the bar of reason. This will enable us to see 
the nature of those relations which we termed the 
logical relations. 

We have seen that explanation consists in a refer- 
ence from the particular to the general. We explain, 
to take a homely illustration, the mauled condition of 
the fish on our breakfast-table, by saying that the cat 
had been there, and confirm our explanation by the 
crucial observation that one of her footprints is im- 
pressed on the tablecloth. But this would be no ex- 
planation, though it might be a description of what 
had taken place, if such thievishness were not a gen- 
eral characteristic of ill-trained cats. Suppose that 
a particular phenomenon, concerning which we are 
impelled to ask the question " Why ? " is altogether 
isolated, and cannot be brought into touch with any 
known generalizations ; then concerning it we can 
only say that we are at present unable to explain it. 
The most we can do is to describe the facts, and hope 



132 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

that they may be explained hereafter by the discovery 
of their relations to some of the generalizations which 
form part of the body of assured knowledge. 

Explanation, then, being the reference of the partic- 
ular to the general, it becomes our duty to set forth 
the nature of the generalization and the relation of 
the particular thereto in the clearest and most effect- 
ive manner, in order that the grounds of our refer- 
ence may be made apparent and our explanation justi- 
fied to reason. This is done by means of a series of 
propositions arranged in a special way, or in special 
ways. A proposition is a direct statement arranged 
in the clearest and most perspicuous form. Gram- 
matically, the proposition consists of subject and pred- 
icate, together with certain words or phrases which 
qualify or amplify the one or the other. And here it 
may incidentally be said that grammatical analysis is 
of the utmost service in enabling the pupil to per- 
ceive the relations of words in a proposition, these re- 
lations being the reflection in language of those which 
are observable in that experience which language 
seeks to describe. The subject of the proposition, 
which, as before noted, must be carefully distin- 
guished from the subject of consciousness, indicates 
that of which something is to be predicated, or that 
concerning which the proposition is to be made. In 
logic the subject and predicate are spoken of as the 
terms of the proposition, and between the terms is 
placed the copula. In affirmative propositions the 
copula is the word '^ is " or the word ^' are "; and it 
is customary to bring any proposition which is to be 
employed in logic into such a form as to give the 
copula its distinctive position. Instead of saying. 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 133 

" Fish live in water/^ we should, in logic, say, '' Fish 
are aquatic animals/' Thus we have (1) the subject 
of which an assertion is made ; (2) the predicate in- 
dicating what is asserted ; and (3) the copula sym- 
bolizing the act of assertion. It is sometimes said 
that the copula links together the terms of the prop- 
osition. And this is in a sense true ; the copula 
does link the terms in the written or spoken proposi- 
tion. But if we regard the proposition as expressive 
of a judgment, we must be careful to remember that 
the judgment is one and indivisible, and that the 
terms are reached by analyzing it. Hence the copula 
is to be taken as the symbol of the unity of judgment 
in the midst of the diversity of terms which analysis 
serves to distinguish. 

In the logical syllogism three propositions, contain- 
ing three, and only three, terms are brought into re- 
lation under certain formal rules. These rules we 
cannot here attempt to discuss ; nor can we consider 
the different kinds, or figures, of syllogism. It must 
suffice to give a simple example in the first figure. 
Take the syllogism — 

All rodents have chisel-teeth ; 

The mouse is a rodent ; 
Therefore the mouse has chisel-teeth. 
The final proposition is called the conclusion, and the 
other two from which it is derived are called the 
premises. The predicate of the conclusion is spoken 
of as the major term, the subject of the conclusion 
being called the minor term, while the third term 
which forms the subject of the first proposition, and 
the predicate of the second, is known as the middle 
term. The premise which contains the major and 



134 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

middle terms is called ilia 7n a j or pre7nise ; that which 
contains the minor and middle terms, the mino7' prem- 
ise. It is convenient to express the syllogism in its 
most generalized, form by using symbols for its terms. 
Thus, denoting the major term by P (because it is 
the predicate of the conclusion), the minor term by 
S (as subject of the conclusion), and the middle term 
by M, and representing the copula by . , we have 
the following generalized form of such a syllogism in 
the first figure of formal logic — 
M . P; 
S . M; 
.-. S . P. 
S . may represent a concrete object and be expressed 
by the indicating word *' this." Thus — 

Hive-bees are stinging insects ; 

This is a hive-bee ; 
Therefore this is a stinging insect. 
The educational value of elementary logic, like 
that of the analysis of sentences, consists in the dis- 
cipline it affords. It should be employed as an ex- 
ercise, first, in converting assertions, made in the 
varied modes of literary or scientific expression, 
into propositions in logical form ; and, secondly, 
in throwing into syllogistic figure the conclusions 
reached by inference. '' You obtain the most vital 
idea of inference," says Mr. Bosanquet, ^^by starting 
from the conclusion as a suggestion, or even as an 
observation, and asking yourself how it is proved or 
explained. Take the observation, ' The tide at new 
and full moon is exceptionally high.' In scientific 
inference this is filled out by a middle term. Thus 
the judgment pulls out like a telescope, exhibiting 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 135 

fresli parts witliiii it, as it passes into inference. 
* The tide at new and full moon, heing at these times 
the hmar tide plus the solar tide, is exceptionally 
high/ This is the sort of inference which is really 
commonest in science/^ 

Now, the validity of the syllogism and of the in- 
ductive process by which its major premise is reached, 
and the validity of the whole process of inference 
which is therein stated in logical form, rests upon 
the assumption of the uniformity of nature — an as- 
sumption which docs but universalize the generaliza- 
tions of experience. It is quite clear that if the 
operations of nature are not uniform in the matter 
of hive-bees, I can neither assert with any confidence 
that all hive-bees sting, nor have any assurance that 
this hive-bee stings, since it may happen to be one 
of the exceptions to uniformity. Secondly, this 
validity rests upon the uniformity of thought. If 
our concept hive-bee is not uniform but fluctuating, 
if it have one meaning in the major premise and 
another in the minor premise, there will be no cer- 
tainty in the conclusion. Thirdly, this validity rests 
upon the uniformity of language, or of the terms in 
which we express our thought. If the word " hive- 
bee " be not uniformly associated with one concept, 
it may mean one thing in the major premise, and 
another in the minor premise, whereby our conclusion 
loses all certainty. Uniformity of nature, uniformity 
of thought, aud uniformity of ter7ninology ; these 
form the tripod upon which the " therefore '^ is firmly 
supported. The uniformity of nature is beyond our 
control : it is through failure in preserving uni- 
formity of thought or of terminology that we are 



136 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

apt to go wrong in reasoning. If. for example, we 
use the word " hive-bee" in the major premise as in- 
clusive of working-bees, but in the minor premise as 
inclusive of the whole colony of bees in a hive, queen, 
drones, and workers, then our conclusion may or 
may not be true. If it is a queen or a working-bee, it 
stings ; if it is a drone, it does not sting. Such 
failures in preserving the uniformity of our thought 
or of its expression are the source of what are termed 
fallacies. One of the main advantages of the syl- 
logistic method of statement is that it enables us 
more readily to detect such fallacies. If we say — 
All laws are enactments ; 
Universal gravitation is a law ; 

Therefore universal gravitation is an enactment ; 
our reasoning involves a fallacy. For we are using 
the word law in two different senses, or for two dif- 
ferent concepts. Human laws — laws in the legal and 
constitutional sense — are enactments ; but natural 
laws are generalizations from experience. 

We are now in a position to define the terms reason 
and reasoning. To reason is to ])assfrom jjroposition 
to 2)ropositio7i (or their equivalents in thought) with 
definite consciousness of the logical relations involved. 
It presupposes a conception of the logical relation 
expressed in such words as ''^ therefore" and ^'^ be- 
cause," and a perception of its application in partic- 
ular cases. Eeason may thus be concisely defined 
as the faculty hy which we conceive and perceive there- 
fore. To jump to conclusions, be it never so ac- 
curately, is not to reason ; to profit by the associa- 
tion of sense-experience, be it never so cleverly, is 
not to reason. Either of these processes may be per- 



DESCRIPTION AND EXPLANATION 137 

formed without any conception or perception of the 
logical relation, as such. But when once the child 
can conceive and perceive '^ therefore," he has be- 
come a rational being. 



CHAPTER VII 

MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 

We have been dealing in the last five chapters 
with some of the factors of mental development on 
its cognitive side, which comprises those conscious 
activities which lead up to intellectual knowledge. 
Let us now look at mental development as a whole, 
reviewing briefly what we have learnt concerning the 
cognitive aspect of our conscious life, and introduc- 
ing some reference to the emotions and the will. 

The first thing to notice is that mental develop- 
ment is in many respects analogous to bodily develop- 
ment. Each is a process of natural growth. Our 
minds assimilate the results of our experience just 
as our bodies assimilate the products of digestion. 
In each case we are presented with the raw materials 
which may be elaborated into the corporeal body on 
the one hand, or into the mind and body of conscious- 
ness on the other hand. The body is, however, a 
visible, tangible entity ; while the mind is in its 
essential nature invisible and intangible. The body is 
actually existent at any moment in its entirety ; the 
mind has, for psychology, only a potential existence 
in its entirety. AVhat is actually existent beyond all 
question at any moment is the state of consciousness : 
. 138 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 139 

the rest of what we call the mind, with all its stores 
of experience, is not — or, let us rather say, need not 
be for psychology — actually existent ; it need only 
have a potential existence, in that the conditions for 
its emergence piecemeal into consciousness continue 
to exist during healthy life. The question of the 
existence of the mind as an entity, not only distinct 
from but separate from the body, is a philosophical 
question into which we cannot enter here. It suffices 
for purposes of purely psychological description and 
explanation to assume that the continually existent 
conditions are organic, and that the brain affords a 
physical basis for all that we experience in our states 
of consciousness. And in any case it is a practically 
observable fact that the maintenance of a healthy 
^and vigorous condition of the body, including the 
brain, is essential for the healthy growth and develop- 
ment of the mind. 

Body and mind, then, are alike the products of 
what we may term a natural synthesis. Remember, 
however, that we must distinguish this use of the 
term " synthesis '^ for the designation of a natural 
process, from our previous use of the same word for 
the conscious and intentional putting together of the 
results of our psychological analysis. That was a 
voluntary process ; this is a process which is involun- 
tary, and has its roots deep down amid, not only the 
organic, but even the inorganic operations of nature. 
The union of elementary substances to form a chemi- 
cal compound, as in the case of the carbon that 
burns to form carbonic acid gas ; the grouping of 
molecules to form a crystal, as in the case of the crys- 
tallized sugar obtained by slowly evaporating syrup ; 



140 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the formation of blood, muscle, bone, and other or- 
ganic tissues, as in the case of the hen's egg, which 
after three weeks' incubation becomes a fully-formed 
chick ; these all illustrate the operations of a process 
of synthesis which appears to be one of the widest 
and most universal laws of nature, or generalizations 
from experience. Body and mind are, I repeat, alike 
the results of an analogous process of natural syn- 
thesis. And my motive for thus emphasizing this 
fact is that we may clearly understand what the 
teacher may hope to do, and what he must not hope 
to do, if hope is to be followed by fulfilment. 

The office of the teacher is to supply the most 
favorable conditions for the natural process of mental 
development. What we may hope to do is thus to 
minister to nature : what we must not hope to do is, 
as the proverb has it, to make a silk purse out of a 
sow's ear. We can do little for the geniuses, except 
to be very careful not to stand in their way ; we can- 
not do much for the dunces, except to help them to 
realize where their weakness lies, and where their 
strength — for your dunce intellectually is often ca- 
pable of excellent work of the right sort ; our real 
field of effort lies among the mediocrities, those who 
are gifted with average faculties, which they would 
fail to develop without assistance and guidance. 
Our office is to encourage the development of these 
faculties, and provide the proper raw material on 
which they may exercise their elaborating power. 
Here, again, the analogy of bodily development is 
helpful. We give a child the opportunity of assimi- 
lating the right sort of stuff ; we withhold noxious 
materials ; and the child grows and develops. This 



I 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT Ul 

is a purely individual matter, and cannot be per- 
formed vicariously. So, too, we may give a child the 
opportunity of assimilating the right sort of expe- 
rience, and withhold noxious experience. But the ac- 
tual process of assimilation, that must be left to the 
child and to nature. We may minister to nature, 
but we cannot perform her office. There is one thing, 
however, that we unfortunately can do. We can in- 
duce a child to take into his mouth, with no attemjot 
at assimilation, a number of phrases which sound like 
knowledge : which are, indeed, the products of knowl- 
edge, but not his knowledge, since they have never 
been digested and assimilated by him. This is cram- 
ming. The stuff so crammed is like the earthy sub- 
stance some savages are said to give to their children, 
which does but swell out their little stomachs with- 
out ministering to digestion. To provide this is not 
the office of the teacher. He insists, indeed, upon a 
good deal of rotework and getting by heart, but all 
with the end of true assimilation in view. 

And it is the office of the teacher to supply the 
conditions for all-round development. We are terri- 
bly apt to get mentally lopsided. We are almost sure 
to become so, more or less, when we come to what 
are termed — often, alas ! with hidden irony — years 
of discretion. The teacher should do his best to see 
that those to whose mental development he minis- 
ters shall, at any rate in the early stages of growth, 
have opportunities of development in all reasonable 
and right directions. 

Let us now revert to the fact, so often insisted on, 
that the state of consciousness includes not only a 
focus, but also a margin ; not only the central object 



142 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

of consciousness, but a background in which that 
object is set. The state of consciousness at any mo- 
ment in any individual is a complex product which 
is dependent upon the whole previous mental devel- 
opment in that individual. The objects of sense, as 
such, undergo little or no change from our early 
years till our old age, when the organs of sense are 
becoming enfeebled, and their products in conscious- 
ness are growing dim. The objects of perception 
and conception change little from youth, when our 
mental powers are mature, to the end of our life. 
But the background in which these objects are set — 
that changes as the months and years roll by ; and 
with it, of course, the relation of the focal object to 
the marginal background. ' It is the nature of the 
mental background that determines the temperament 
we are of, and the mood we are in ; sickness or 
health, freshness or fatigue, affect the background 
to a far greater degree than the actual focus of con- 
sciousness. The mental background is the seat of 
the character ; herein lies our wisdom or our foolish- 
ness, our stability of purpose or our weakness. This 
it is which, in any moment of consciousness, is en- 
riched from our stores of memory through associa- 
tions by contiguity or suggestions by similarity in any 
moment of consciousness. And this it is to the de- 
velopment of which the teacher should minister. 

In the last five chapters we have been dealing chiefly 
with the focus of consciousness ; for though it is by 
no means universally true that it is only through the 
focal gate that elements of consciousness can gain 
admittance to the marginal background, still it is 
true that a very large proportion of the background 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 143 

has passed through that focal gate. It is chiefly 
with the focus of consciousness, too, that the teacher 
can directly deal ; but he should so deal with it as to 
have constant reference to the development of the 
mental background. For, as we claim, the province 
of education is to cultivate the mind as a whole ; but 
the mind as a whole is a potentiality of existence of 
which the mental background in any moment of con- 
sciousness is, for psychology, the actually existent 
sample. The background in which the object is set 
is, at any given moment, the actual representative of 
all the potentiality of the mind. What is to be said 
in this chapter in further elucidation of mental de- 
velopment must have reference largely to the back- 
ground of consciousness. 

First let us inquire what we inherit. What is our 
mental stock in trade to start with ? It may sound 
paradoxical to answer. Our mental stock in trade is 
a body and brain. Such answer, however, probably 
best indicates the facts. We do not come into the 
world with any actual mental stock in trade, but in 
body and brain we inherit the potentiality of all our 
future mental development. If objection be taken 
to the word '^ potentiality, ^Met us substitute for it 
the phrase " organic conditions." The matter may 
perhaps be made clearer by an analogy. We may 
liken the mind to the flower of our life's growth. 
Now, the seed and seedling inherit no actual flowers ; 
but it inherits certain organic conditions which render 
the development of flowers in due course a matter of 
natural sequence. And the nature of these flowers 
down to the minutest details is, except in the matter 
of differences individually acquired, part of its natural 



144 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

heritage. In like manner the body and brain are the 
organic basis and condition of the future mental 
development ; and this is what the babe inherits. 
But here too the flower of his mental growth down 
to the minutest details is, except in the matter of 
differences individually acquired, part of his natural 
heritage. He inherits no visual ideas, no auditory 
ideas, no ideas of touch, taste, or smell ; but he 
inherits the conditions for the occurrence of sense- 
impressions ; and as the special senses are called into 
play by the stimuli of the surroundings, sense-impres- 
sions are produced, and the development of sense- 
experience commences. We know very little con- 
cerning the exact manner in which the ordering of 
sensory data into a consistent body of sense-experience 
takes place ; for this ordering is well established by 
the time we are two years old, and this period marks 
for most of us the extreme backward limit of memory. 
But during this period there has been developed in 
some way, by some process of natural synthesis, a 
body of sense-experience which in any moment of 
consciousness furnishes a sensory background in 
which new sense-impressions are set, being thus raised 
to the level of what we termed seiicepts, and to which 
these new impressions bear definite relations, though 
these relations may not as yet be definitely perceived. 
But not only do the special senses contribute data 
to sense-experience. Our bodies respond to the 
stimuli they receive, and respond in ways which are 
from the first more or less definite through inherit- 
ance. Such responses, when they are from the first 
quite definite, are termed i?istinctive. The more 
complete the organic development of an animal at 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 145 

birth, the greater the number of definitely instinc- 
tive activities it inherits. The bee emerges from its 
chrysalis sleep in a highly developed condition, and 
at once performs its instinctive activities. Many in- 
stinctive activities are observable in the newly-hatched 
chick. The human infant is relatively far less per- 
fectly developed. There are fewer definitely instinc- 
tive activities. But the child inherits innate ten- 
dencies to respond to stimuli in more or less definite 
ways. These are accompanied by consciousness. 
The net results of complex activities — that is, activi- 
ties which involve a complex play of muscular con- 
tractions — stir our consciousness as wholes, not in 
their varied details. Using the word feeling, in its 
most inclusive sense, for any element or group of 
elements in consciousness, we may apply the term 
activity-feelings to the effects in consciousness of 
active responses to stimuli. These activity -feelings, 
the conditions of which are inherited, are woven into 
the body of sense-experience, in the process of natural 
synthesis, and become ordered in due relation to the 
data afforded by the special senses. Thus the sensory 
background in which new sense-impressions and new 
activity-feelings are set, and to which these new 
objects of consciousness bear definite relations, is 
already of considerable complexity, comprising not 
only data afforded by the special senses, but also data 
afforded by the motor elements, all of them duly 
ordered into a self-consistent whole. 

We have now briefly to consider these states of 
consciousness from a different point of view. Hith- 
erto we have been regarding them in their cognitive 
aspect. The term " cognitive "" is perhaps in strict- 

10 



146 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

ness to be applied only to that which concerns knowl- 
edge ; and knowledge, as we have seen, involves con- 
ception. We may, however, conveniently extend the 
term '' cognitive " to that aspect of sense-experience 
which is the precursor of knowledge properly so 
called. If we do not adopt this plan, we must coin 
some such new term as ''^pre-cognitive'' ; and we 
have terms enough to deal with as it is without in- 
venting new ones. The cognitive aspect of experience 
with which we have been dealing gives the form and 
grouping of the picture of consciousness ; the emo- 
tional aspect, to which we must now turn our atten- 
tion, gives the color and tone of the picture. And 
just as the artist in oils uses the same materials to 
express both form and color, so it is in consciousness. 
The same impressions and ideas in the focus, the 
same background of sensory and motor elements, 
which we have been considering in their cognitive 
aspect, present us also with the emotional aspect, 
when we fix our attention not on the form and group- 
ing, but on the coloring of the mental picture. We 
have not to deal with a new group of emotional im- 
pressions and ideas, but with a new aspect — one 
which we have so far intentionally neglected — of our 
states of consciousness. It is now our duty to make 
this aspect predominant through analysis. 

We may speak of the coloring of our states of con- 
sciousness as emotio7ial tone. The phrase is by no 
means altogether satisfactory, but it may serve till some 
other wins its way to general acceptance. It includes 
not only that coloring which we describe as pleasur- 
able and painful, but also a great number of shades 
which are, so to speak, made of the same stuff as 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 147 

pleasure and pain, but which could not be grouped 
under either of these heads. It is difficult to say 
whether anger and pity, both of which are suffused 
with emotional tone, are pleasurable or painful. 
They may be either, or neither, or perhaps both ; for 
there is a painful pleasure in anger, and a sweet pain 
in pity. What we speak of as excitement may be 
pleasurable, or painful, or neither the one nor the 
other, and yet full of emotional tone. 
\ It is characteristic of emotional tone that it diffuses 
itself over the whole state of consciousness. / Pain, 
especially acute pain, due to some definite organic 
mischief, such as a deep cut or a toothache, may be 
concentrated in the focus of consciousness ; but this 
acute pain due to physical injury should, I think, be 
placed in a class by itself, and distinguished from 
the more general emotional tone with which we are 
dealing. Setting that aside, it is, I repeat, character- 
istic of emotional tone that it is diffused over the 
whole state of consciousness. And this is especially 
true of those states which are par excellence termed 
the emotions. Much may, indeed, be said in favor 
of the view, to which I personally more and more in- 
cline, that the emotional tone is mainly, in such cases, 
a matter of the background of consciousness. What 
is in focus is the object which excites the emotion. 
One object excites anger, another surprise, another 
fear, another interest, another aversion, and so on. 
Each calls up its special background, and therein, of 
course in its relation to the focal object, lies the main 
body of the emotional tone. And this emotional tone 
is very largely, probably we may say predominantly, 
associated with what we termed activity-feelings. 



148 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

either presentative or re-presentative. Thus the 
emotion of anger involves the re-presentative sugges- 
tion, in the background of consciousness, of those 
activity-feelings which accompany certain forms of 
vigorous action to which we have an innate tendency. 
When this re-presentative suggestion is strong, there 
follows a faint repetition of this action, which is 
termed the ^''expression of the emotion/' And this 
faint action presentatively strengthens the re-pre- 
sentative emotion. Thus by action and reaction we 
may, as we say, work ourselves up into a passion. 
The emotion of dread involves the re-presentative 
suggestion of that state of muscular collapse which 
would appear to be in the first instance a purely 
organic and physical effect. When this re-presenta- 
tive suggestion is strong, there follows a faint tend- 
ency to such collapse, and this again presentatively 
strengthens the re-presentative emotion. We call 
this " giving way " to the emotion ; and it is well 
known that such giving way may result in complete 
collapse. The emotions, then, in so far as they are 
due to activity-feelings in their aspect of emotional 
tone, may be either presentative or re-presentative, 
or partly the one and partly the other. 

Now, the control of which we spoke in the third 
chapter is essentially a motor control. Whether we 
can control the course of our thoughts is a matter 
upon which there is want of agreement. But all 
agree that we can exercise motor control over our 
muscular activities. Note, then, the bearing of this 
fact upon what is termed self-control in the matter 
of the emotions. It may be doubtful whether we 
can exercise control over the emotion as purely re- 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT U9 

presentative, but there is no doubt that we can ex- 
ercise control over the motor ex^^ression of the emo- 
tion. We can check that clenching of the fists, 
setting of the teeth, and general tightening up of the 
muscles, which anger as re-presentative tends to 
call forth. We thus prevent that reinforcement of 
the emotion by the addition thereto of presentative 
elements, which leads to the passion gaining sway 
over us. So, too, with grief. We cannot, when death 
has snatched from us our nearest and dearest, 
banish sorrow from our mind ; memories crowd in 
on the background of our consciousness and will not 
be gainsaid. But we can exercise self-control over 
the expression of our grief. These are elementary 
and familiar facts, but they should be steadily borne 
in mind by the teacher. That habits of self-control 
can be acquired stands almost beyond question. It 
is the office and privilege of the teacher to assist in 
and encourage the acquisition of such habits. 

The introduction of the element of control has led 
us on to the third point of view from which states of 
consciousness may be considered, that of volition or 
the to ill. Authorities differ as to whether or not there 
are special elements in consciousness due to the exer- 
cise of control. Personally I am inclined to believe 
that there are ; but the matter is too technical for 
discussion here. Nor is such discussion needful ; for 
the will is essentially a practical faculty. Let us, 
however, note clearly the relations of what we have 
termed the three aspects of the state of consciousness. 
The cognitive aspect is essentially objective ; it deals 
with the object of consciousness in relation to the 
existing mental background. The emotional aspect 



150 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

is essentially subjective ; it deals with the emotional 
tone of our own states of consciousness. It is the 
fountain-head of action, and leads, if unchecked and 
uncontrolled, to that mode of activity which we term 
i7npulsive. The volitional aspect is essentially active 
and controlling ; it is in close touch with the cogni- 
tive objective aspect on the one hand, and with the 
emotion-al and impulsive aspect on the other hand ; 
it holds impulse in check in the light of an extended 
cognition. The impulsive emotions are like spirited 
horses in the coach, or more prosaic omnibus, of life ; 
volition is the coachman, now reining in and now 
whipping up the horses. Both the horses and the 
coachman employ their cognitive powers, but the 
latter with wider view and more foresight. And any 
mismanagement or upsetting of the coach or omnibus 
may damage many people, and be a social evil. Even 
if we are independently driving our own dogcart, 
mismanagment may derange the whole traffic. The 
analogy is not altogether satisfactory ; we must fuse 
our coachman and horses into a sort of mythical 
centaur, to represent the essential unity of conscious- 
ness in its three aspects, cognitive, emotional, and 
volitional. 

The practical word of advice in the matter of the 
training of the will is — Remember that control is, at 
any rate primarily, a faculty that deals with motor 
activities. And remember that it is in trivial mat- 
ters and unessential activities that a power of control 
can most readily be acquired. Do not expect your 
coachman to hold in check a spirited horse, if he 
have had no practice on inoffensive donkeys, quiet 
old ponies, and easy-going cobs. Do not expect a 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 151 

lad to exercise self-control in the stress of strong temp- 
tation and hot impulse, if he have had no training 
in motor control when the temptation was scarcely- 
felt and the impulse no stronger than a slight leaning 
or inclination. Just as habits of obedience are fos- 
tered by insisting on absolute conformity to our in- 
structions in all things, no matter how unimportant ; 
so are habits of self-control fostered by encouraging 
frequent exercise of the faculty in the little daily ac- 
tions of ordinary life, no matter how trivial. 

Let us return now to the cognitive aspect of states 
of consciousness. For the affording of training in 
matters of skill we speak of instruction, with its 
accompanying ^;rrtc/ic«Z demonstration. We also 
speak of demonstrating a theorem, say in Euclid. 
This process consists in proving, in particular in- 
stances, the validity of a generalization which is clearly 
and concisely enunciated. The two uses of the word 
'^ demonstration '^ should be carefully distinguished. 
Practical demonstration consists in showing how a 
thing is to be done, instead of only describing how it 
is to be done. Its correlative is imitation. In that 
branch of education which comprises instruction in 
matters of skill, a little practical demonstration is 
more helpful than much description. For the per- 
fecting of skill, continued practice is essential. The 
accomplishment of a skilled act is usually accom- 
panied by the emotional tone of satisfaction. The 
child is, however, apt to be somewhat easily satisfied ; 
and it is the office of the teacher to lead his pupil on 
to be satisfied only with the best performance. One 
of the characteristics of a successful man, in the 
truest sense of the word '^ successful," is that he is 



152 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

dissatisfied with even liis best performances, and 
seeks to attain satisfaction by bettering them. This 
is that "noble discontent" which constantly spurs a 
man on to higher and more strenuous endeavor. It 
should therefore be the aim of the teacher to foster 
the development in the background of consciousness 
of this right and helpful sort of dissatisfaction which 
prompts to higher perfection. \The healthy competi- 
tion of games is of great value in contributing to this 
development. / This is one of the points in which the 
educational iiifluence of our great public schools is 
so valuable. And since all improvement in skill is 
effected through the application of motor control, it 
is clear that we have here also a wide field for the 
training of the will. Lack of improvement is often 
due to mere weakness of will ; there is an amiable 
wish to do better, but the application of control 
is wanting. Whether a teacher can do much to 
strengthen a naturally weak will is a question that is 
perhaps open to discussion. But he can, at any rate, 
encourage control in matters of skill in which the 
opposing force to be overcome is rather indolence 
than strong emotional impulse. 

We may apply the term information to that which 
is given and received through oral or written descrip- 
tion. Those who can readily absorb and retain the 
information imparted to them may be said to have 
good powers of receiAivity. It may perhaps be said, 
^ without either injustice or exaggeration, that of all 
^ branches of modern education this is the easiest, the 
commonest, and the least valuable from the stand- 
point of mental development. People nowadays, of 
all ages and of all classes, are athirst for information. 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 153 

and the means of providing it are multiplied ex- 
ceedingly. Nor should we undervalue such informa- 
tion. It is the stuff of which knowledge is made, or, 
let us rather say, the stuff which, in correlation with 
individual observation and individual generalization, 
contributes to the making of knowledge. ' There is, 
moreover, no more delightful companion than the 
well-informed man. But it is only one factor, and 
that not the most important factor in education. 
The danger is lest it should be regarded as all-suf- 
ficing. 

Assigning to it, therefore, its true place in the edu- 
cational scheme, encouraging the constant checking 
of information by personal observation whenever op- 
portunity occurs, and insisting upon^he due exercise 
of the generalizing faculty of conception and the par- 
ticularizing faculty of perception on the materials 
supplied through the channels of information/ it is 
the office of the teacher to do all in his power to see 
that the information is accurata and thorough. In- 
formation is mainly descriptive. The demand for it 
implies a special attitude of mind, which we may term 
the ^''how" attitude. This is most valuable. We 
ought to endeavor to establish in the minds of our 
pupils a permanent background of '^how ?" so that 
of every object we see and of every fact v/e are told, 
the question, How is it related to other objects or to 
other facts ? at once suggests itself. If possible, it 
is better to answer the question " how " by observa- 
tion ; but, failing that, information must be accepted 
as a substitute. The emotional tone associated with 
the " how*' attitude is what we term interest./ And 
the importance of interest in education is too familiar 



154 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

to need special illustration. What I am here anxious 
to show is that this " how'' attitude, with its emo- 
tional tone of interest, should be so woven into the 
margin of consciousness as to become part of the 
permanent mental background of character. 

Before passing on to point out that we should en- 
deavor to establish not only a ^'how'' attitude with 
its descriptive interest, but also a ' ' why " attitude 
with its interest in explanation, a few lines may be 
devoted to the importance of correlating the faculties 
of observation and description. It is one thing to 
observe well, and another thing to describe well the 
observations we have made. But for purposes of 
knowledge, which is not only a personal and in- 
dividual matter but of general and social validity, 
individual observation has to be translated into ac- 
curate description in order that the results of the ob- 
servation be rendered socially accessible. Hence the 
pupil should be trained not only to observe but to 
describe his observations. When such correlation of 
the two faculties has been established, not only will 
observation tend to clothe itself in description in the 
moment of practical experience, but description, read 
or heard, will tend to call up images of observations 
similar to those that are described. 

What was spoken of just now as the ''why" at- 
titude is analogous to the ''how" attitude ; but it 
requires not a descriptive answer, but an explana- 
tion. Such a mental attitude is natural to a rational 
being. But there are many people, old as well as 
young, who appear to have a much keener appetite 
for scraps of information and superficial description 
than for either thorough information, full and ac- 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 155 

curate description, or explanation in any of its wider 
and deeper phases. The minor newspapers, that 
consist of a heterogeneous and disjointed series of 
snippets, minister to and encourage this kind of 
mental appetite, and foster a flabby and inconsequent 
habit of mind. Furthermore, the constant reading 
of a number of scrappy paragraphs, the contents of 
which one has neither the wish nor the intention to 
remember, weakens the memory, while it impairs the 
mental digestion. The encouragement of the *' why " 
attitude and of the desire for explanation may do 
something to check this tendency, and may foster 
the development of a logical background. For just 
as the ^' how " attitude at its best leads up to 
habits of exact observation and accurate description, 
so does the '' why '' attitude at its best lead up 
to habits of consistent, logical thought and clear 
explanation. The rational being, as such, is charac- 
terized by the fact that his mental background 
is ordered in accordance with logical relationships, 
so that any object of thought or experience at 
once assumes its true position in a logical field — a 
field of generalizations which can be rapidly brought 
to bear upon the particular object immediately in 
focus. 

But there is something which may be ranked higher 
than reason and the logical faculty, to which' reason 
and logic minister. It is that which in its varied 
phases is sometimes termed insight, sometimes imag- 
ination^ sometimes intuition, sometimes inspiration 
(in the non-religious sense). It is perhaps of all 
mental faculties the most difficult to describe, to de- 
fine, and to explain. \ It is that faculty by which new 



156 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

thought is brought into existence. The thought may 
not be new to the race, but in any case it is new to 
the individual. Hence it is rightly termed the crea- 
tive faculty. Of course the new thought is the prod- 
uct of the interaction of old materials. We have 
every reason to believe that it is a natural product ; 
we may regard it, in fact, as a specialized result of 
that process of natural synthesis to which allusion 
has before been made. \ Just as from a solution of 
alum in water, crystals are formed by natural process 
of synthesis under appropriate conditions, so from a 
solution of experience in thought new ideas crystallize 
out under appropriate conditions. / The alum crys- 
tals are new to that solution, though not new to 
natural existence ; so may the idea be new to the in- 
dividual mind though not new to human thought. 
But if we are experimenting with new groupings 
of old materials under new conditions (as is done 
daily in chemical laboratories), then there may result 
crystalline substances new to natural existence. And 
if new groupings of old experience, including per- 
haps also new observations, are held in the solvent 
thought of a mind of exceptional capacity and ac- 
tivity, there may crystallize out ideas new to man. 

Insight and the higher creative imagination come, 
however, too little within the scope of the ordinary 
operations of the teacher to justify more than a bare 
mention of them here. In its lower ranges the 
faculty does concern us in some degree ; and a few 
words concerning intuitive procedure, how it may be 
fostered, and how it may be brought into relation 
with other mental processes, will not be out of place. 
Intuitive procedure is what we commonly term 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 157 

"jumping to conclusions." The conclusion is often 
right, though how we reached it, and why we reached 
it, we are unable to say. Presumably it is largely a 
subconscious operation, a direct product of the men- 
tal background the details of which we are unable to 
make focal. And probably it is of the same nature 
as the suggestions by similarity of relationship which 
were spoken of in the second chapter. Certainly 
those of whom this mode of suggestion is strongly de- 
veloped are those who most often exhibit intuitive 
procedure. Hence to foster the faculty, which in 
due restraint is a valuable one, we must encourage 
this mode of suggestion. And we can best encourage 
it by being careful not to check it, but to guide it. 
Children are often highly imaginative ; and nothing 
is commoner than for the unimaginative teacher to 
ruthlessly snub down the imagination of the child — 
which is, indeed, a delightfully simple operation, re- 
quiring neither experience nor tact. No doubt the 
imagination is often wild and wayward ; but our duty 
is to train it, not to crush it. And unfortunately the 
former is a far more difficult thing to do than the 
latter. Snubbing is so easy ; the helpful guidance of 
the imagination so difficult. One cannot give rules 
for such guidance ; it is a matter of tact in individ- 
ual cases. 

But unquestionably reason is the ballast by which 
the imagination is to be steadied and balanced. The 
conclusion to which we jump by intuitive procedure 
must be justified by logic at the bar of reason. We 
may not know how and why we reached the conclu- 
sion in the first instance ; but we must be able to show 
how and why that conclusion may be justified and 



168 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

proved to be valid. Thus logic is the afterthought 
to insight. Thus reason ministers to inspiration. 
The wild and wayward flights of imagination must be 
restrained within the limits of either the natural re- 
lations of the universe in which we live, or the assumed 
relations of the universe our imagination creates. In 
a word, the products of the imagination must be self- 
consistent. Paradise Lost is one of our most splen- 
didly imaginative poems ; but it is also wonderfully 
self-consistent. Lofty imagination, rendered self- 
consistent by reason, is the attribute of what we term 
genius. 

The creative imagination of the great artist, be he 
poet, painter, musician, or other, carries with it a 
special quality of emotional tone ; while the receptive 
imagination of those to whom his art appeals, carries 
with it the same quality. This is what is termed 
(Bsthetic tone. Like emotional tone in general, of 
which it is a species, it is mainly a matter of the 
mental background. We feel on reading a poem, 
looking at a picture, or hearing a symphony, that the 
whole body of our consciousness is thrilling with 
emotional tone. We shall return to this point in the 
ninth chapter, when we shall consider literature as an 
example of art, and shall say somewhat more concern- 
ing the special nature of the aesthetic tone which it 
calls forth. It is one of the richest products of men- 
tal development ; we should do all in our power to 
foster it. 

And in the creative imagination of the great artist 
the influence of the will and of self-control is shown 
in the self-consistency enforced on the product in 
conformity with the dictates of reason. Nowhere 



MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 159 

more completely than in the works of the great artist 
do we see cognition, emotion, and will conspiring to 
reach the highest product of mental development. 
If we can only get our pupils to sit at the feet of 
these great masters, to breathe somewhat of their 
spirit, and to learn of them, we shall be doing for 
them the best that can be done. The teacher should 
be to the taught the faithful interpreter of nature 
and of art — an intermediary whose office it is to show 
the pupil how to learn for himself at these two foun- 
tain-heads. 

Nothing has been said, unless indirectly, on one 
most important aspect of mental development — the 
social aspect. That will be reserved for special con- 
sideration in the last chapter. Enough has perhaps 
been adduced in this chapter to show that mental 
development is not only a matter of cognition, but 
also of the emotions and the will ; that it is not only 
a matter which concerns the focus of consciousness, 
but that it is mainly a development of that mental 
background which is, at the moment of conscious- 
ness, the actual representative of the whole poten- 
tiality of the mind. 



CHAPTER VIII 

LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 

Education begins in the nursery. There the child 
acquires his first practical acquaintance with the 
natural and other objects by which he is surrounded. 
He senses, though he may not yet be able to perceive/ 
the relations which they bear to himself and to one 
another. There the raw material of knowledge and 
thought begin to accumulate. At the same time, 
the child grows up in what we may term an atmos- 
phere of language. He is not only directly taught 
the use of words through association by contiguity 
with objects of sense-experience ; these associations 
are also established indirectly and incidentally — 
that is to say, without intentional instruction, the 
word-sounds continually falling upon his ear in close 
connection with visual or other impressions. 

Presumably the first associations of this kind are 
between objects of sense-experience (sencepts) and the 
words by which these objects are symbolized. That 
is to say, those words and parts of words which are 
expressive of relations have probably for the little 
child no meaning. They are mere surplusage of 
sound, conveying nothing, of no suggestive value. 
So soon as the child begins to speak he passes from 
160 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 161 

the condition of being a mere recipient of oral com- 
munication to that of being himself a communica- 
tor. Words become for him a means of more com- 
plete intercommunication. The words that he first 
employs are indicative either of objects of sense or of 
such actions and activities as are objects of sense- 
experience ; such objects, or the states of conscious- 
ness in which they are focal, being probably strongly 
tinged with emotional tone. This stage of the use 
of words — for we may hardly yet call it the use of 
language — may be termed that of indicative com- 
munication. When the child says ''up," for ex- 
ample, that word is indicative of a certain mode of 
sense-experience — the experience of being lifted — 
which is also, through its emotional tone, an object 
of desire, to use this word in a broadly inclusive 
sense. W^e must not be misled by the fact that the 
word " up " is used as a preposition, into saying 
that the child is here employing a preposition. It is 
not used by the child as a preposition. Nor must 
we say that the child is condensing a sentence into 
one word, and that this word is really equivalent to 
*'I want to be lifted up." The child is not ex- 
pressing the adverb of a sentence, the rest of which 
is unexpressed. Nor is the word to be regarded as 
a sentence, but simply as a definite sound which he 
has learned to associate with a particular piece of ob- 
jective sense-experience. We ought not to call the 
words at this stage of indicative communication 
nouns or verbs or any other parts of speech ; for the 
terms, noun, verb, etc., express the relations of the 
words they name in a sentence. Nor should we call 
them condensed sentences ; for a sentence is descrip- 
8 



162 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

tive, and they are merely indicative. We must call 
them simply indicative word-sounds. 

When the child passes beyond the stage of mere 
indicative communication and begins to talk in sen- 
tences, this shows, unless the sentences are merely 
repeated parrot-fashion, that he is beginning to per- 
ceive relations. For since sentences descriptively 
express relations, it is clear that the relations so ex- 
pressed must be first perceived. A connecting link 
between the stage of indicative communication and 
this higher stage of descri2)tive communication, as 
we may term it, is when the child puts together in 
juxtaposition two objects of sense-experience. When 
the child puts together the two word-sounds, '' Bow- 
wow, bark," he is on the verge of, if he have not 
actually reached, predication. At first, perhaps, a 
mere expression through word-sounds of the sensed 
association of a visual with an auditory impression, 
it would soon acquire the force of a perceived as- 
sociation ; in which case the expression, though not 
yet a sentence in form, is a sentence in intent. And 
when once the child reaches this stage, when the 
perception of relations is dawning upon his mind, 
there follows a period of marked and rapid progress, 
partly due to his individual use of perception, partly 
to the fact that through this perception his teachers 
acquire a new leverage to lift him up in his onward 
course of development. 

For we teach in relations ; and until these rela- 
tions can be perceived we are able to do little in the 
way of direct teaching : we must be content to afford 
material to the child's powers of imitation, since his 
powers of apprehension are not yet developed. But 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 163 

when the child^'s apprehension stretches forth to 
meet our description ; when, partly under the in- 
fluence of the development of his quickening powers 
of perception, partly under our guidance in the ap- 
plication of these powers, his restless faculty of ob- 
servation is directed to the relations of the phenomena 
of the world around him ; and when to perception 
are added analysis and generalization ; — then the 
child makes rapid progress on the one hand in knowl- 
edge, and on the other hand in the modes of express- 
ing that knowledge — in language and thought. 

If we look back to the early condition of man, and 
if we study the, in part primitive, but in part per- 
haps degenerate, condition of man as he now is in 
savage races, we seem to find evidence of a stage of 
human progress when intercommunication was en- 
tirely oral — that is, by word of mouth, and not by 
writing, though this oral communication was prob- 
ably very early supplemented by pictorial represen- 
tation. In the caves of France, and in some of the 
caverns of our own country, there are found, in- 
scribed on bone or antler or tusk, rude representa- 
tions of animals. The animals so represented are 
sometimes grouped ; and it has been suggested that 
these incised figures were perhaps not only early efforts 
towards pictorial art, but were used to convey in- 
formation, like the message-sticks of some uncivilized 
tribes to-day. Thus, in one of the French caves 
(the rock-shelter of La Madeleine, in the Dordogne) 
there was found a piece of antler on which on one 
side two large aurochs^ heads are represented, and 
on the other a man is depicted with a weapon 
or burden on his shoulder. He is meeting horses. 



164 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

indicated by their heads ; behind him is the sea, in- 
dicated by incisions representing the waves, in the 
midst of which is a fish or eel. It has been sug- 
gested that all this had a meaning. It may have 
meant : The tribe whose totem or sign is the aurochs 
have ^eft the sea, where they have been living on 
fish, for the prairies, where they will hunt horses. 
This is, no doubt, conjectural ; but the suggestion 
is interesting as showing the way in which this very 
early race of man may have employed pictures as a 
means of communication. We may speak of this 
stage of human progress, where word of mouth and 
pictures are employed, as the stage of oral and pic- 
torial tradition. 

It is a well-known law of organic development 
that an animal in the early phases of its life-history 
passes through stages in which it resembles its re- 
mote ancestors. The same is true in human prog- 
ress. And perhaps we may, without extravagance, 
regard the Kindergarten phase of modern education 
as a rehabilitation of the stage of oral and pictorial 
tradition, and may see, in the concerted exercises 
and musical drill, the civilized survivals of what was 
probably of great value to the tribe in early time, 
and is still of great value among savage races, surviv- 
ing among them as the war-dance. The value of 
such exercises alike among savage tribes and in our 
civilized Kindergarten lies in the social training it 
affords in concerted action. And musical drill may 
illustrate, what is not improbably the fact, that music 
arose in the history of our race as a rhythmic ac- 
companiment to the rhythm of the dance. 

Note that the word '* tradition " emplo3^ed for this 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 165 

stage of communication serves to emphasize the fact 
that the accumulated knowledge of one generation is 
thus handed down or carried on to the next. This 
is one of the most distinctive features of descriptive 
communication as compared with that which we have 
termed indicative. In the indicative stage of the use 
of words there is no tradition or handing on of the 
results of experience. What is indicated is essen- 
tially present experience. It deals wholly with the 
here and the now. A child in this stage, for whom 
words have only an indicative value, is incapable of 
understanding the relations of past and future. If 
we say, " I will take you up presently," or, '' I took 
you up just now,'' it is the word '' up " that has in- 
dicative force, unqualified by the past or future re- 
lations we have introduced in our description ; and he 
repeats the word " up '' to indicate his present need. 
Not until relations are perceived, and the apprehen- 
sion of such description is rendered possible, does 
the child begin to take the past, as past, into his 
view, or extend his mental vision so as to include 
the future. Of course, in remembrance he has re- 
presentations of past events ; but such memories are 
present to his consciousness at the time of remem- 
brance, and that relation to the present in which lies 
their perceived pastness is not yet an object of per- 
ception. It is characteristic of sense-experience, prior 
to the development of perception, that it lives wholly 
in and for the present. 

When from the stage of oral and pictorial tradi- 
tion we pass to that of written record, we make a 
great onward stride. The child is taught to read 
and write. He is thus provided with the means of 



166 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

apprehending and comprehending all the knowledge 
placed upon record by those who use that language 
which he has been taught to read. Reading and 
writing are of course a valuable means of intercom- 
munication, more extended both in space and time 
than is possible by word of mouth alone. But this 
is not their chief value. Their chief value lies in 
the fact that written language is a record of thought 
and experience, while the ability to read this written 
record places us in touch with all the thought and 
experience thus recorded. And since this is so, 
since the essence of thought can thus be dissolved in 
the medium of language, and so handed on, that he 
who can read may thus drink the accumulated knowl- 
edge of the past, it might be supposed, and is sup- 
posed by some, that all we have to do is to drink 
deep of books, and thus absorb the wisdom of the 
ages. But a right understanding of the relation of 
language to thought will enable us to grasp how fal- 
lacious this is. Language is the expression of 
thought ; but it is the symbolic expression. Its 
symbolism is rendered suggestive through associa- 
tion. Or, since the word ^' symbolic" may itself be 
misleading, let us say that words are the signs of 
ideas, and that their significance is learned through 
association. There is, for example, a general idea 
concerning vibrations which is expressed, symbolized, 
or signified by the word ^^ amplitude."^ To those 
who have already formed a conception of amplitude, 
and who have learnt to associate the conception with 
this word, the word carries significance. To those 
whose conception is definite the significance is defi- 
nite ; to those whose conception is hazy the signifi- 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 167 

cance is also hazy; to those who have no conception the 
Avord lias no significance. So, too, of language in gen- 
eral. It is significant only to those who have already 
reached the conceptions it embodies, and have learned 
to associate the conceptions with their verbal em- 
bodiments. Hence the necessity, as already pointed 
out, of constantly submitting our conceptions to the 
touchstone of experience, and allowing a continual 
to and fro play between generalizing conception and 
particularizing perception. 

It may be said, AYhat, then, is the use of describ- 
ing or explaining that which is new to the experience 
of the hearer ? If language is significant only to 
those who have already reached the conceptions it 
embodies, how can we lead up through language to 
new conceptions ? Let us note what steps we practi- 
cally take in such cases. We wish to describe quick- 
silver to a child. We say that it is something like 
this pewter in its brightness and the way it reflects 
the light ; it is even heavier than this lead ; it is 
liquid like water, so that I could pour it from one 
vessel to another. And we might further qualify 
each of these statements so as to render them more 
exact. Now, we may assume that all the words in 
which the quicksilver is described are significant to 
the child ; if they are not significant the description 
so far fails. At the end, if he have good powers of 
synthesis, he may combine these particular properties 
thus signified into the new idea we wish him to form. 
The word ^^ quicksilver '' then becomes significant to 
him. But significant of what ? Of a lit of mental 
synthesis he has performed under our guidance. The 
qualities so combined are matters of direct experience. 



168 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

and the words which express them are directly signifi- 
cant. The result of the synthesis (the quicksilver) 
has not been an object of direct experience ; the word 
''quicksilver^' is only i7idirectly significant. To the 
questions placed at the beginning of this paragraph, 
we must reply, that since language is significant only 
to those who have already reached the ideas it em- 
bodies, the new ideas to which we can lead up through 
language are only indirect or second-hand, and the 
words which stand for them are only indirectly 
significant. And the use of describing or explaining 
that which is new to the experience of the hearer is 
that, through apprehension and comprehension, he 
may reach indirect conceptions preparatory to the 
direct conceptions which will result from direct ex- 
perience through individual observation, perception, 
and conception. The distinction here drawn between 
indirect conception and significance on the one hand, 
and direct conception and significance on the other 
hand, is one which the teacher should clearly grasp. 
Let him by an appeal to his own experience answer 
the questions. What is the relative validity of direct 
conception and indirect conception ? Which is the 
most real and vivid ? Which answers most closely to 
the facts of existence ? There can be little doubt 
about the answer. Indirect conception is a makeshift, 
most valuable as preparatory to direct conception, 
but of nothing like the same validity and reality. 
The teacher should therefore lose no opportunity of 
encouraging dissatisfaction with merely indirect con- 
ception, and of helping his pupil to see the impor- 
tance of making their conceptions direct by bringing 
them into perceptual touch with experience. So far 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 169 

as is possible, every word should be rendered directly 
and not merely indirectly significant. Thus only 
will the true relation between language and thought 
be established. 

The words ''significance" and ''meaning" are 
used for the most part interchangeably — that is to 
say, they bear much the same meaning or signifi- 
cance. They are somewhat troublesome, however, 
from the fact that they are applied not only to words, 
but to ideas and objects of thought. We not only 
say, for example, that such and such a word or phrase 
is significant and full of meaning, but we say also 
that this or that observed fact is significant, or that 
we now see its meaning. Or we may say that such 
and such an observation, which apparently has no 
bearing upon any generalization, is insignificant and 
without obvious meaning. The two uses are, how- 
ever, closely connected ; and a brief consideration of 
the connection will serve to bring home both the real 
meaning of significance and the true significance of 
meaning. 

Knowledge — and the same is true of the thought 
which embraces it — is a closely-related whole, all 
the parts of which are mutually interdependent. 
Nothing therein is isolated or independent of the 
rest. If any observed fact is apparently isolated and 
independent, we say that we do not see how to fit it 
into our scheme of knowledge, and that, for the pres- 
ent at least, we are unable to explain it. We may 
note, in passing, that different people regard these 
apparently isolated and inexplicable facts or observa- 
tions from different points of view. Some ignore or 
neglect them, as tending to interfere with a scheme 



170 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

of knowledge with which they are well satisfied. 
Others hail them, and try to make them the starting- 
points of new investigations. They hold that their 
scheme of knowledge is, after all, limited and imper- 
fect. They are dissatisfied with its limitations and 
imperfections, and would gladly extend and perfect 
it. The one set of people ignore and neglect the ap- 
parently isolated observation, because it has for them 
no meaning or significance ; the other set hail it, 
because they hope to ascertain its significance and 
meaning. From which we may gather that these 
words express the relation wliicli any ohject of con- 
sciousness hears to the general body of inter-related 
hnowledge. 

But language is the medium in and through which 
knowledge is communicated. It too shares in the 
close interdependence of knowledge. Isolated facts 
and observations are not knowledge ; nor are isolated 
words and phrases language. Just as, when we in- 
quire what the meaning of a fact is, we wish to know 
its relations to other facts and to that part of the 
body of knowledge which comprises it ; so too, when 
we inquire what the meaning of a word is, we wish 
to know its relations, as a symbol of thought, to 
other symbols and to that part of the body of lan- 
guage which comprises it. Hence we can never say 
what the full significance and meaning of a word is 
unless we know what its context is in the sentence. 
Significance and meaning, then, in all cases imply 
the conception and perception of the relations in- 
volved ; but as applied to words they imply tlie con- 
ception and perception of a double relationship — the 
relations of the symbols, and the relations of that 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 171 

which they symbolize. All through, mental training 
from the nursery to the study involves a concurrent 
education in language and thought. 

For purposes of exact science, and for purposes 
of logical treatment, the meaning of certain words 
is rigidly and accurately defined. They then become 
what are called tecli7iical terms. In physics, for ex- 
ample, we must not use the terms '' energy," ^' mass,"' 
or '^ acceleration " in any other than their technical 
acceptation ; in geometry, the terms " point, '" ^' cir- 
cle," " radius," and so on, are carefully defined. 
The technical language of science thus possesses the 
advantage of rigid accuracy of significance, but it 
thereby becomes mechanical and loses its plasticity. 
In the language of literature, on the other hand, the 
words employed are not technical terms, rigidly and 
accurately defined ; they acquire their significance 
to a far greater extent from the context. Their re- 
lations to each other may be described as rather or- 
ganic than mechanical. In the literary product of 
a great master, while the meaning and significance 
are scarcely, if at all, less exact than in the lan- 
guage of science, the inter-relations are far subtler. 
They involve great delicacy and nicety of perception. 
In our higher education we afford opportunities for 
the training of mind in the relations of language 
and thought not only in scientific description and 
explanation, but also in the more imaginative prod- 
ucts of literary masters with their more direct sug- 
gestion of emotional tone. And if we have in view 
all-round mental development, a training neither in 
the language and thought of science nor in the lan- 
guage and thought of literature should be omitted. 



172 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

The language and thought of our daily conversa- 
tion is, as a rule, neither one thing nor the other. 
It has neither the exactitude of the mechanical rela- 
tion characteristic of the one, nor the delicacy of 
the organic relation characteristic of the other. But 
if often somewhat hazy and indefinite, it is, at any 
rate, eminently plastic. 

3y learning to read, the child passes from the stage 
where he is merely receptive of oral and pictorial 
communication, to the stage at which he can make 
use of the written record. But he is then only en- 
tering upon the threshold of his education. How 
shall we train him so that language and thought may 
develop in him to their best and highest uses ? One 
way of answering this question would be to sketch 
out a self-consistent scheme of education, primary 
and secondary, and diverging thence into technical 
and university. It is not my intention to attempt 
anything of the sort. I shall content myself with 
the more modest endeavor to indicate as briefly as 
possible what would appear to be the chief psy- 
chological import of the subjects which are com- 
monly taught. 

We may first note that a subject may claim a place 
in an educational scheme — (1) on account of its 
direct educational value as a means of mental disci- 
pline ; (2) on account of its utility, by which is meant 
not only its utility for getting on in the world, but 
also its utility for further intellectual progress ; and 
(3) on account of its aesthetic or moral worth. 

Little need be said on the value of grammar, com- 
position, and the analysis of sentences. But we 
should not begin to teach grammar too soon ; nor 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 173 

should we make it an exercise in mere memory-work, 
with rules, lists of examples, and lists of exceptions, 
all learned by heart. When the child is already tol- 
erably familiar with the use of his own language, 
and is sufficiently developed to be able to perceive 
the relations of the words to each other in a sentence, 
then, startiiig tvUh the sentence, not ivitli the gram- 
mar booJc, we should train his powers of perception 
of these relations. And an admirable field for the 
training of perception it is. When these relations 
have been perceived in a great number of particular 
cases, we may lead the pupil on to generalize these 
perceptions, to conceive the relationships, and to 
apply the conceptions in particular cases. In this 
way parsing and the grammatical analysis of sen- 
tences may be made a real and very valuable mental 
discipline. The child should not be allowed to see a 
grammar until his powers of grammatical perception 
are such that he is beginning to have complete con- 
fidence in them, nor until he has reached, under due 
guidance from the teacher, a number of generaliza- 
tions for himself. Then he may use a grammar, 
but even then chiefly as a book of reference. Com- 
position may be used as a means of exemplifying 
what has been learned in the study of grammatical 
analysis. But just as the child should be encouraged 
to see that language is not only a medium for the 
perception of grammatical relations, but a medium 
through which emotional tone may be evoked ; so, 
too, he must be encouraged to use language in com- 
position to a similar end. He should be encouraged 
to develop that appreciation of literary form which 
characterizes the best use of language, and to ex- 



174 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

press himself in a form that is at any rate not awk- 
ward, slipshod, or incorrect. 

I pass now to the study oi foreign languages. For 
direct educational value there is no question that 
such a highly inflectional language as Latin stands 
far higher than modern languages. Indeed, we may 
say that .the comparative study of an analytic lan- 
guage like English, and an inflectional language like 
Latin, is essential for the best training in the per- 
ception of grammatical relations. In the inflectional 
language each word bears on its face the sign of its 
relationship. '' Magister pueros docet." The sub- 
ject is here clearly indicated and marked off by its 
termination from the object as complement of the 
predicate. The time-relation is also clearly shown 
in the form of the verb. In English, though we 
still retain some inflections, we as a rule indicate the 
relations either by separate words or by position in the 
sentence. While in Latin we say " docet," '' docuit," 
'^docebat," or ''docebit," the verb itself showing 
the time-relation, in English we say '' teaches " and 
'' taught," so far like the Latin, but '' was teaching'' 
and ''will teach," here using separate words to ex- 
press the time-relation. In Latin, as in English, the 
grammatical analysis should, so far as is possible, be 
made a matter of direct perception in the sentence, 
not a matter of rules learned by heart in the gram- 
mar. The headmaster of a grammar school tried, for 
a term, the experiment of giving no grammar work 
from the book, but taught bis form to exercise their 
perceptions on the grammatical relations as they 
naturally arose, and to generalize the results they 
obtained. At the end of the term he set a grammar 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 175 

paper ; and though the form was nowise above the 
average, the grammar papers they sent in were dis- 
tinctly above the average. It is as a means of training 
the faculties of perception and generalization that 
the study of such a language as Latin in comparison 
with English is so valuable. For utility, French and 
German are superior to Latin. For this purpose a 
conversational and reading acquaintance with the 
language is of more service than a training of 
grammatical perception by its means. Indeed, 
the relations to be perceived are so similar to those 
already provided for in the study of English and 
Latin, that in the study of French or German reference 
to them should only be incidental. The teaching 
of a modern language should be, and generally is, 
on different lines from those marked out for the study 
of Latin. All these linguistic studies offer a con- 
venient field for the encouragement of the ^' how " 
attitude and the *^ why " attitude. And it is partly 
because the *^^how" and the '''why ^' admit of such 
ready descriptive and explanatory answers that such 
studies are of such value in mental discipline. 
Etymology may be made a means of training in the 
comparative method, and may serve to introduce 
conceptions of development. By this means, also, 
information of social value and import may be 
introduced, and the mental horizon widened. All of 
these foreign languages, Latin, French, and German, 
open up great and wide literatures, though few there 
be that find them. Here, however, Greek takes 
precedence of any. For the encouragement and 
stimulation of an appreciation of literary form at its 
very best, Greek stands unrivalled. But of those 



176 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

who learn Greek at school, how few reach anything 
like a full appreciation of the literary wealth thus 
placed within their reach, and how few find time to 
keep up their acquaintance with the language. Greek 
is taking its position as a language the adequate 
study of which is not for the many but for the few. 
Concerning mathe7natics, the branch of study that 
deals with numerical and quantitative relations, little 
need be said. Its great value, both from the point 
of view of mental training and discipline, and from 
that of utility, both commercial and intellectual, is 
admitted by all. It is typically exact, and fosters 
accuracy of thought ; and this thought is expressible 
by means of a special language or notation of cor- 
responding exactness. It affords admirable illustra- 
tion of abstraction and generalization in close com- 
bination ; but its generalizations admit of being readily 
particularized in examples. The teacher should, 
so soon as the mental powers of his pupils are ripe for 
it, illustrate by means of mathematics the nature of 
abstract and general ideas ; and the relation of these 
ideas, as abstract and general, to the particular cases 
in which they are exemplified. It is a subject, how- 
ever, which in its higher ranges makes great demands 
on the memory ; but at the same time trains the 
faculty of systematic recollection. It emphasizes the 
logical relationship, and is of immense value in aiding 
the pupil to conceive and perceive the '^therefore.^^ 
An exercise of some value for those who are sufficiently 
advanced is to translate examples of geometrical 
reasoning, such as propositions of Euclid, into logical 
form. Or this may be brought out less formally 
by a continual asking of the question '^ Why ? " and no 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 177 

subject lends itself better to the training of the '* why '' 
attitude than mathematics. The mathematical train 
of reasoning is apt to get a long way from the 
fundamental generalization, and a series of "'^whys'* 
are necessary to bring us down to these founda- 
tions. 

Geometry is of especial value in bringing home to 
the eye in perception certain abstract and general 
numerical and quantitative relations ; those who ex- 
cel in applied mathematics having often a special 
aptitude in translating the problems with which they 
have to deal into geometrical form. It is often ex- 
ceedingly helpful to bring home to the eye, by means 
of visible space-relations that can be readily perceived, 
quantitative relations which could not be directly 
perceived. For example, the fluctuations in the 
value of the rupee between 1884 and 1893 are brought 
home to the eye in the figure on p. 178 ; while in the 
figure on p. 179, the space, in feet, passed over by a 
body falling under the uniformly accelerating force 
of gravitation, at the end of the first, second, and 
third seconds and the intervening half-seconds, is 
shown by firm lines ; the velocity acquired at the 
end of each second and half-second is shown by 
broken lines. This metJiod of diagrammatic represen- 
tation is often a great aid to the apprehension of de- 
scription dealing with quantitative relations, and to 
the comprehension of an explanation of the facts 
described. The teacher should make himself f amilar 
with its use. Two lines are drawn at right angles. 
The vertical line is used as a scale for the quantita- 
tive relations to be perceived. In the diagram on p. 
178 it is a scale of value, marked off in pence and 

12 



178 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 



1 




1 






1 


s 


s 


s 


s 


:S 


S 


» 


w 


^ 


w 


^ 


r1 



1 f 1 ' T I 



•anivji 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 179 



Feet. n^^^^to^^ 

I I I I I I I I I I I M I I I I M I I I i I I I I I I I I 1 I I I i 



180 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

shillings, each division representing one penny. In 
the diagram on p. 179 it is a scale of feet, each division 
representing four feet. Along the horizontal line 
are arranged the facts described. If, as is often the 
case, they are described as occurring at definite time- 
intervals, these intervals should be placed to scale 
along the line. On p. 178 the intervals are years. 
On p. 179 they are half-seconds. Perpendiculars are 
drawn to scale over the position of each fact 
described. Thus, over 1884, on p. 178, the average 
value of the rupee in that year, one shilling and 
sevenpence halfpenny, is represented to scale ; and 
over 1893, the value in that year, one and twopence 
halfpenny, is similarly represented. Thus, too, over 
one second on p. 179, 16 feet, the space passed over 
in one second, and 32 feet, the velocity at the end of 
that second, are represented to scale ; and over three 
seconds, 144 feet, the space passed over in that time, 
and 96 feet, the velocity acquired at the end of that 
second, are similarly represented. If in this diagram 
the upper ends of the broken lines be joined by a 
straight line, and the upper ends of the firm lines be 
joined by a curve, the uniformity of increase in both 
cases is brought home to the eye, the increase in the 
velocities being in arithmetical progression, while the 
increase in the spaces passed over is in geometrical 
progression. And thus the generalizations, v = 32^ 
and 5=16f, may be led up to. It will be noticed 
in the diagram on p. 178, that while the value of the 
rupee fell from 1884 to 1888 and 1889, it rose in 1890. 
This should at once suggest the question. Why ? It 
was, we are told, a temporary rise, of brief duration, 
due to the action of the United States Government 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 181 

in buying up silver with the object of maintaining 
the level of its value as compared with gold. And it 
is one of the generalizations of political economy that 
increased demand is accompanied by a rise in price. 
Enough has now been said to enable the teacher to 
understand the method of diagrammatic representa- 
tion, or the graphic metJiod, as it is often termed. 

Incidental reference has already frequently been 
made to the use of science in mental training. In 
the early stages of education it should be purely 
observational or experimental and descriptive ; and 
it must throughout be thoroughly practical. For 
observation by itself, elementary botany ; for ob- 
servation with experiment, elementary physics and 
chemistry are best. Our aim is to make the pupil 
perceive for himself natural relationships. Later on 
simple generalization will follow. But the uttermost 
care on the part of the teacher is needed to avoid, on 
the one hand, introducing explanations beyond the 
powers of his pupils, and, on the other hand, let- 
ting the so-called science degenerate into mere rule- 
of-thumb work. Invaluable as a real training in 
elementary science is in education, we have to be 
constantly on our guard lest it sink to the level of 
mere memory work, dealing with a number of terms 
and phrases which have only what we call indirect 
significance, supplemented by some testing of solu- 
tions to give an appearance of practical value. 

The direct educational value of history is to widen 
the mental horizon. It should, in the early stages of 
education, be picturesque and anecdotal. It should 
carry with it a considerable body of emotional tone ; 
and it should be charged, not obtrusively, of course. 



182 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

but quite insensibly, with moral purpose ; for its 
value to a great extent lies in its social influence. 
One of the chief difficulties in teaching children 
history is to afford anything like a realizing idea of 
time-relations, and of what we may call time-pro- 
portion. This involves what is called localizatmi in 
time. The child should first be taught to localize 
events in his own experience. I would suggest to 
the teacher of young children to try the following 
plan. Get, or make, a long strip of paper. Tell 
your pupils that you are going to keep a record, day 
by day, of the events of the week. Write down these 
events, the lessons learned, the games played, the walks 
taken, anything that interests them, from below up- 
wards, beginning at the bottom of the strip, and mark- 
ing the day — morning, afternoon, and evening. At 
the end of the week, tell them that you are going to 
show them the record. Hang the strip over the back 
of a chair, bidding them stand in front, and then pull 
the paper slowly over so that the record of event after 
event comes in due order of succession into view. 
They will — so I am told by teachers who have tried 
the plan — be delighted at seeing the record of the 
week's events pass before them in ^ few minutes. 
They will thus get an idea of a condensed time- 
record — the week's events being condensed into five 
minutes. They will soon be able to localize the 
events in the week — such localization being a percep- 
tion of the time-relation of the event in question to 
other events. A similar record-scroll may be made 
to represent the chief events of their life. And thus 
we may lead up to historical record-scrolls; and our 
pupils may be taught to localize events in historical 



LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT 183 

time. The days of the week in our first scroll rep- 
resent the dates in our historical scroll. But it must 
be remembered that dates are symbolic of time local- 
ization, and until the child can localize in time are 
meaningless. No doubt, at a somewhat later stage, 
the dates of the salient events of history should be 
committed to memory as reference points for time- 
localization ; but this should not be permitted until 
such dates have acquired meaning. 

It was noted just now that the study of history had 
a moral value. This perhaps comes out most clearly 
when we pass from the descriptive to the explanatory 
stage, for then we have to consider the motives for 
conduct and action. History in the explanatory stage 
is a subject rather for university than for secondary 
education. The schoolboy, and this is true also to a 
large extent of the undergraduate, has too little ex- 
perience of the world for the great facts of history 
to assume for him their true significance ; hence it is 
not till we reach mature years that the real bearing and 
full value of historical study begins to appear. 

Under the heading of geography we teach localiza- 
tion in space by means of maps, which condense within 
the reach of visual perception space-relations too wide 
to be embraced by the eye. As localization in time 
should be taught to little children by the aid of events 
which fall within their individual experience, so 
should localization in space be taught by the aid of 
areas of which the child has such experience. "When 
a child can understand a map of the garden or play- 
ground, and of his own village, or a part of the town 
in which he lives, he is prepared to understand a map 
of the county or kingdom. But the geographical 



184 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

conceptions of a stay-at-home child are probably very 
vague. Under the head of geography is also conveyed 
a more or less miscellaneous mass of general informa- 
tion concerning other lands from the historical, polit- 
ical, commercial, or social point of view. This has 
very little value as mental discipline ; its value, like 
that of history, lies mainly in the fact that it widens 
the mental horizon and is of social import. Under 
the head of physical geography we describe and ex- 
plain the manner in which the physical features of 
the earth have been produced. It is of little value 
(except as information) unless associated with pre- 
vious or concurrent training in elementary science. 

It is hardly necessary to add that education is 
incomplete unless there is a training in skill both in 
the use of the delicate finger muscles and in that of 
the larger and coarser body muscles. 

In all subjects, with the exception of that of skill, 
it is essential that there should be concurrent train- 
ing in language and thought ; and that both concep- 
tions and the words by which they are expressed 
should be, as far as possible, directly and not merely 
indirectly significant. 



CHAPTER IX 

LITERATURE 

It has already been shown that mental develop- 
ment is an individual matter ; that the mind of a 
child, like his body, grows in virtue of an innate and 
inherent synthetic tendency ; and that all the teacher 
can profitably hope to do is to supply the most favor- 
able conditions for growth and development. And 
if this is true of the mind in its cognitive aspect, it 
is equally, and perhaps more obviously, true of emo- 
tional development. We will take literature as our 
example of the wide field of artistic culture. And 
here we feel to the full our helplessness to do more 
than minister to nature. If there be no inborn faculty 
of appreciation for literature, we cannot hope to im- 
plant it by any method of instruction ; and if such 
faculty be given, all that we can do is to afford the 
material and the opportunities for its ripening and 
maturing. 

There would seem to be some people who, in adult 
life, have little or no appreciation of literature. They 
see, for example, nothing particular to admire in 
Tennyson's beautiful lines — 

'* And Morn 
Has lifted the dark eyelash of the Night 
From off the rosy cheek of waking Day ; " 

or in such lines as those of Lowell's — 
185 



186 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

" The rich buttercup 
Its tiny polished urn holds up, 
Filled with ripe summer to the edge." 

And if they do not feel the beauty of such passages, 
what can we do ? It will certainly be of little avail 
to try to describe and explain — even if it admitted of 
explanation — wherein the beauty lies. He who is 
wise will change the subject. But with children it 
is our duty to foster their appreciation. And for- 
tunately there are few children in whom there are no 
germs of appreciation which may be so fostered. In 
most cases the absence of receptive imagination in 
grown-up people is due to the fact that in them the 
germs have never been cultivated, or the young shoots 
of imaginative appreciation have died down and 
withered in the sterile soil of their daily life. But 
the ministry of the teacher is here peculiarly difficult ; 
for what the child is capable of appreciating is often 
very different from what the teacher himself appreci- 
ates. Certain it is, however, that if the teacher have 
never cultivated his own faculty of appreciation, he 
will be little able to render efficient service to his 
pupils in this respect. Hence his aim should be so 
to establish a mental background of appreciation in 
himself that he may be able insensibly to influence 
in a similar manner the minds of those who are com- 
mitted to his care. 

In our elementary education a good deal of stress 
is rightly laid on recitation. This affords material in 
and through which appreciation may be trained. But 
the mere getting by heart of the poetry which is 
recited is the least important part, in educational 
value, of recitation. At first, no doubt, the child 



LITERATURE 187 

must devote all his efforts to learning his piece by 
rote. But the true criterion of excellence in recita- 
tion is not merely that it should be word-perfect, but 
that it should show that the reciter has entered into 
the spirit of that which he recites. And he should 
be early made to understand that correct manner and 
method are certainly not less important than correct 
matter. Here demonstration is of far more service 
than description. The teacher must himself be able 
so to recite or read as to show how the spirit of the 
piece may be brought out. At first the manner and 
method of the child will have little individuality ; 
they are based, through imitation, on the manner 
and method of the teacher. But it is surprising how 
soon the individuality of the child makes itself felt ; 
and such individuality should be encouraged so long 
as it does not run into mannerism. As the pupil 
thus becomes independent of the teacher, he is able 
more and more clearly to show the extent to which 
he appreciates that which he recites. 

To the recitation of poetry should be added prac- 
tice in reading aloud, not only poetry of varied metre, 
but good literary prose. Thus fresh material will be 
supplied on which the developing faculty of appre- 
ciation may be exercised. The usual plan in En- 
glish secondary and public schools is to drop all re- 
citation and reading of the literature of his own 
language just at the time when the boy's appreciation 
is so far developed as to enable him to enter into the 
spirit of the work of the best masters. It is true that 
a play of Shakespeare or one of the ^' Idylls of the 
King " or other set piece is prepared with the aid of 
copious notes ; and an examination is set which deals 



188 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

with text and notes. But from the nature of the 
case the examination paper deals with them entirely 
in their cogiiitive aspect. Look through such a paper 
and what do you find ? A series of questions set, ap- 
parently, with the object of ascertaining how much 
general information concerning the subject matter of 
the piece, or suggested thereby, the boy remembers. 
All this is, no doubt, useful. But it is no test of 
literary appreciation — a matter which no examination 
paper can adequately gauge, and hence a matter too 
apt nowadays to be neglected. 

It forms, however, no part of my present purpose 
either to criticise existing methods of education or to 
suggest practical reforms. I can but indicate what 
appears to me necessary for the training of faculty. 
The problem is : Given a faculty of appreciation, 
which answers on the part of the recipient to the 
creative faculty on the part of the literary artist, how 
are we to train it ? By all means let us render assis- 
tance in the apprehension and comprehension of that 
which our author has written. In this we cannot be 
too thorough. But, after all, it is not herein that 
appreciation lies. Nor can we expect a boy to de- 
scribe his appreciation ; as well ask him to describe 
his appreciation of a fully ripe peach. But we may 
expect him to give expression to that appreciation 
through the reading of selected passages from his 
author. And we may and should teach him so to 
use his faculty of speech as to reflect the beauty of 
the literature he appreciates. Thus only can he show 
us how far his receptive imagination answers to tlie 
creative imagination of the author he interprets. 

The term '^ imagination," like so many others in 



LITERATURE 189 

psychology, is used in different senses by different 
writers. It is well to use it to denote the syntlietic 
faculty hy which ideas are recombined to form new 
products. The phrase ^'passive imagination" is 
sometimes used for the unconscious and unintentional 
recombination of ideas ; while ^^ active imagination "is 
used for their conscious and intentional recombination. 
The distinction is, however, hard to preserve. It is 
characteristic of genius that the riches of imagination 
seem to pour forth unbidden and without conscious 
effort. Nor can the mind under such circumstances 
be well called passive. "We may distinguish between 
three uses of the imagination. In scientific imagina- 
tion the recombination of ideas is for purposes of 
explanation ; the end in view being intellectual, and 
the attainment of knowledge. In inventive imagina- 
tion the recombination of ideas is for purposes of 
mechanical construction ; the end in view being prac- 
tical, and the aim, utility. In artistic imagination 
the recombinaton of ideas is for purposes of art ; the 
end in view being aesthetic, and the aim, beauty. A 
further distinction — one that applies to all these uses 
— is that between the creative imagination of the 
man of science, the inventor, or the artist, and the 
receptive imagination through which we respond to his 
creative synthesis. The appreciation of which we 
have been speaking involves receptive imagination. 
The creative imagination of the poet is quite lost 
upon the reader or hearer who has no kindred re- 
ceptivity. Hence the appreciation of imaginative lit- 
erature presupposes a faculty which shall go out to 
meet and embrace the creative product of the artist. 
People of little imagination regard the similes and 



190 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

metaphors of the poet as far-fetched and extravagant. 
Why should Tennyson speak of the '* dark eyelash " 
of the night, or the " rosy cheek " of morn ? What 
could have induced Lowell to call the flower of a 
buttercup an ^' urn, " and to say that it was filled 
with ^' ripe summer " ? For the lack of imagination 
in many of us — especially men — education rather 
than nature is answerable. Children generally revel 
in fairy tales and delightfuly improbable stories of 
adventure. But there are some parents and teachers 
who check all such reading ; it is not practical, and 
will be of no service in this busy, workaday world. 
Moreover, during school-life the boy has generally 
very little spare time for the reading of imaginative 
literature. The curriculum is so arranged that, when 
the daily routine of work and games has been duly 
fulfilled, there are but few odd moments left to devote 
to the novel or the drama. Even the holidays have 
their set task of some book on which the inevitable 
examination, optional or compulsory, is held. No 
doubt there are good reasons for this course. No 
doubt, if much spare time were left, but few boys 
would devote it to good literature ; and these few 
may be trusted to make or steal the time if they 
have a real bent for literature. But the fact re- 
mains that the many do not cultivate their imagina- 
tive faculty. 

There is one further fact concerning imagination 
in literature which may be noted, since it illustrates 
in a new way what was said concerning the relation 
of the general to the particular, and of conception to 
perception. In literature, as in art- product, general- 
ization takes the form of idealism ; particular ization. 



LITERATURE 191 

that of realism. The ideal in art involves abstraction 
and generalization — abstraction in the omission of 
all details which are not necessary to the idealized 
product ; generalization of the essential features 
reached by abstraction. Eealism, on the other hand, 
involves the introduction of such details as shall as- 
similate the representation to actual fact, and the 
incorporation of the results of generalization in 
individual persons or concrete things. Utter realism 
would be the exact portrayal of life and nature as it 
is, with no trivial detail omitted. In the first place, 
this is not possible ; in the second place, it is not art. 
What is meant by realism in art or literature is there- 
fore the introduction of so much detail as shall 
make the ideal representation lifelihe and natural. 
What the artist, literary or other, aims at is the due 
balance between idealism and realism. The ideal con- 
ception of the creative imagination has to be embodied 
in particular form ; and Hamlet, Monkbarns, or Tito 
stand before us. 

The subject matter of literature is as varied as are 
human interests. In it are reflected all the aspects 
of external nature that appeal to us as human beings, 
all the phases of human life and endeavor, and all 
the yearnings and passions of the human soul. All 
that we see and know, all that we hope and believe, 
all that we fancy and imagine, are reflected in litera- 
ture. It is quite impossible, therefore, to define 
literature as a whole by its subject matter. Nor is 
this subject matter in any way definitely marked off 
from that of science. Neither literature nor science 
can claim a monopoly of any group of natural phe- 
nomena. Man and nature afford subject matter to 



192 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

both. And our own century has witnessed science, 
on the one hand, endeavoring with increasing suc- 
cess to justify the application of its canons to the 
study of man, and literature, on the other hand, 
turning with increasing sympathy for inspiration to 
the realm of nature. It is not in their subject 
matter broadly considered that literature and science 
differ, it is in their attitude and spirit and pur- 
pose. 

Now, since different men and women have dif- 
ferent interests, and derive their pleasure from dif- 
ferent sources, there are many kinds of literature. 
Nor is there one kind of literary excellence, but 
many. This is implied by the adjectives we use : 
sublime, majestic, grand ; tender and pathetic ; 
exciting, thrilling ; humorous, witty, comic ; and so 
forth. We do not, or should not, apply the epithets 
*' beautiful '' and '' pretty " to the same piece. And 
this implies a variety in our appreciation. The 
same kind of literature does not appeal in like 
degree to all of us, nor indeed in the same way to 
any one of us in his different moods. These facts 
must be steadily borne in mind by the teacher. 
\He must remember that what appeals strongly to him 
at his stage of mental development may not appeal 
at all to his pupil, who is at an earlier stage. If he 
attempts in any way to force upon an immature mind 
an appreciation unsuitable to its stage of develop- 
ment, he may either prejudice the pupil for life 
against that type of literature, or encourage a sham 
appreciation, than which nothing is unfortunately 
more common or more silly. What he has to do 
is to educate the appreciation, leading it on step 



LITERATURE 193 

by step in its upward development. He must re- 
member, too, that his aim is to minister to all-round 
mental development. He should endeavor to culti- 
vate an appreciation of literary excellence in all 
its phases. The majestic verse of Milton and of 
Wordsworth at his best ; the polished excellence of 
Tennyson, and the concentration and dramatic power 
of Browning ; the broad humanity of Shakespeare 
and of Scott ; the humor and pathos which find such 
different expression in Thackeray and Dickens ; the 
strength of George Eliot and the delicacy of Elizabeth 
Browning ; the word-painting of Ruskin and Carlyle, 
the wit of Tom Hood, and the delicate humor of 
Charles Lamb, — all these should have their chance of 
appealing to a mind that has had an all-round educa- 
tion in appreciation. And since we must distinguish 
between our lower and our higher interests ; between 
the pleasures which are mean, trivial, or sordid, and 
those which are ennobling, and appeal to what we 
feel to be the better side of our nature ; so we should 
encourage our pupils to appreciate best that litera- 
ture which appeals to lasting and enduring interests, 
to those pleasures which are ours in virtue of our dis- 
tinctive humanity. 

Literary form appeals primarily to the ear, and we 
should endeavor to cultivate a due sense and appre- 
ciation of the melody of literature. Even when we 
read to ourselves, the element of sound is not ab- 
sent, but accompanies re-presentatively that which 
is presentatively given to the eye. In early days be- 
fore the invention of printing, the appeal of the poet 
was mainly to the ears of an audience ; now it is 
more largely to a circle of readers. And since the eye 
13 



194 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

can take in a more complex and longer sentence than 
the ear — since, too, the reader in his study can pause 
and go over a passage again if he have not caught its 
rhythm or its meaning — some modern poetry has be- 
come too complicated and involved for the ear to 
follow. Few, for example, could grasp on first hear- 
ing, or indeed on first reading, the following passage 

from '' Sordello "— 

♦'While 

Crowd upon crowd rose on Sordello thus — 

(Crowds no way interfering to discuss, 

Much less dispute, life's joys with one employed 

In envying them,— or, if they ought enjoyed, 

Where lingered something indefinable 

In every look and tone, the mirth as well 

As woe, that fixed at once his estimate 

Of the result, their good or bad estate)— 

Or memories returned with new effect." 

Judged by the appeal to the ear, such a passage 
stands condemned. And, at any rate for the pur- 
poses of education, the appeal to the ear is the surest 
criterion of excellence in literary form. To the ap- 
peal to the ear, however, an appeal to the voice should 
be added. Hence the great and, in secondary edu- 
cation, too little recognized importance of reading 
aloud. I revert to this because it is, in my judg- 
ment, of great value in the training of the faculty of 
appreciation, while it is also a delightful accomplish- 
ment. How few Englishmen of average education 
are capable of reading effectively a passage in prose 
or verse so as to bring out its rhythm and melody, 
its delicacy or its force. And though a man's powers 
of elocution are not necessarily an index of his faculty 
of appreciation, yet this is the most expressive means 



LITERATURE 195 

at his command for showing his appreciation. If, 
too, there is any truth in what has before been urged, 
that language and thought develop hand in hand, we 
may fairly expect that appreciation and its expression 
should so act and react upon each other as to facili- 
tate the concurrent development of both. 

We cannot here consider at any length how the 
child should be trained to use aright his gift of speech 
for purposes of reading and recitation. As before 
noted, demonstration is here of far more value than 
description. The child must be shown — not told — 
how to read well. The articulation must be clear 
and distinct, free from provincialism and mannerism. 
Rate of utterance and emphasis must be duly graded. 
And the melody of intonation must subtly indicate 
a sense of harmony between the thought and its ex- 
pression. Sing-song in repetition or reading must 
be checked at all hazards. Unfortunately, much of 
the simple poetry for children lends itself all too 
readily to sing-song. Hence the pupil should be 
taught to read prose with due intonation. It is 
easier to read well good blank verse than the rhymed 
couplet. The pupil should also be taught to distin- 
guish clearly between the rhythm and melody of 
poetry and that of prose, and should be led to feel 
that the difference lies a good deal deeper than the 
way in which the lines are written or printed. A 
prose author may consciously or unconsciously fall 
into the rhythm of poetry — a fault from which even 
Dickens is not free. Mr. Blackmore, for example, 
in Lorna Doom, writes : " All that in my presence 
dwelt, all that in my heart was felt, was the maiden 
moving gently, and afraid to look at me.^^ This is 



196 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

not true prose melody, but the rhythm of verse. On 
the other hand, uniformity in the length of the lines 
does not constitute poetry, though some definite 
schematic sequence is almost, if not quite, essential. 
The American poet Walt Whitman shook himself 
almost entirely free of all the trammels of metre. 
Both in thought and expression, much that he wrote 
has great beauty, but it is difficult to read aloud 
effectively. I may perhaps be allowed to quote one 
short piece — 

*' Had I the choice to tally greatest bards, 
To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at 

will 
Homer with all his wars and warriors, Hector, Achilles, 

Ajax, 
Or Shakespeare's woe-estranged Hamlet, Lear, Othello — 

Tennyson's fair ladies — 
Metre or wit the best, or choice conceit to wield in perfect 

rhyme, delight of singers ; 
These, these, O sea, all these I'd gladly barter. 
Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me 

transfer, 
Or breathe one breath of yours upon my verse 
And leave its odor there." 

Here, where he is most effective, in the last four lines, 
he departs least widely from the traditional poetic 
form. 

The pupil should always be allowed to read over 
carefully to himself any passage he is expected to read 
aloud effectively. It is quite impossible for him fully 
to perceive the harmony between expression and 
thought as he reads. Take, for example, the follow- 
ing five lines from a well-known sonnet of Words- 



LITERATURE 197 

worth's, which are admirable in their delicate har- 
mony — 

" It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea." 

It is not likely that the words '^ breathless with ad- 
oration/' or the last line with its lingering emphasis 
on the word '' broods/' will be rendered with due 
effect if the reader has no previous acquaintance with 
the poem. Nor can he catch the spirit of this intro- 
duction if he has no foreknowledge of the sequel. 
Reading at sight is indeed a most useful accomplish- 
ment, which should be separately trained. It in- 
volves in marked degree that divided attention vi^hich 
was alluded to in the second chapter ; for the compre- 
hension of the meaning as we read at sight is some 
way ahead of the vocal expression. But this very 
division of the attention prevents the expression from 
attaining anything like its maximum value. It may 
be useful, therefore, to be able to read a poem or a 
piece of music at sight ; but it should be understood 
that this is no fair criterion either of appreciation or 
of powers of expression. What should we say of an 
artist who came forward to read or sing in public, and 
who gave us a mere at-sight rendering ? But no 
artist worthy the name would willingly consent to 
do such gross injustice both to himself and to his 
audience. 

Let us now pass on to consider what is the psycho- 
logical nature of t\idX appreciation to which reference 



198 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

has so frequently been made. In the first place, we 
may note that it belongs to the category of that 
emotional tone to which we directed our attention 
in the chapter of Mental Development. It is not 
primarily a matter of cognition, though cognitional 
elements may be present. Hence it is exceedingly 
difficult to define or describe, since both definition 
and description are in terms of cognition. Apprecia- 
tion is, however, an example of a special kind of 
emotional tone — that which is termed msthetic tone. 
What are the distinguishing characteristics of aesthetic 
tone is a point on which psychologists are by no 
means agreed. That which is here said must there- 
fore be regarded as a matter of individual opinion. 
In common with emotional tone in general, it is in 
large degree subconscious and concerns the mental 
background. Or perhaps it would be better to say 
that it concerns the state of consciousness as a whole, 
both focus and margin, and especially the relations 
involved. Herein, indeed, lies, in my opinion, the dis- 
tinguishing feature of aesthetic tone, as such. It is 
the emotional tone associated with those elements in 
co7iscious7iess lohich we term relations. It does not, 
therefore, take its origin until perception has intro- 
duced into the field of consciousness these relational 
elements. Until we can perceive the relations in- 
volved in the melody and harmony of literature, the 
aesthetic tone of appreciation has no place in our 
consciousness. 

We speak in daily conversation of perceiving the 
beauty of a poetical passage. We say we perceive the 
beauty, for example, of Browning's description of the 
awakening of the water from its frosty sleep, when — 



LITERATURE 199 

*' Early in autumn, at the first winter- warning, 
The stag had to break with his foot, of a morning, 
A drinking-hole out of the fresh tender ice, 
That covered the pond, till the sun in a trice, 
Loosening it, let out a ripple of gold. 
And another and another, and faster and faster, 
Till dimpling to blindness, the wide water rolled." 

Such perception of the beauty of a passage may mean 
the perception of the relation of the passage to our 
standard of beauty ; in which case it is a judgment 
and cognitive in its nature. Or it may, and gener- 
ally does, mean a feeling of appreciation ; in which 
case it is the direct experience of sesthetic tone. What 
we perceive, in the latter case, is the series of rela- 
tions involved in the poet's description, and this is so 
far cognitive. But this perception is accompanied 
by emotional tone, and herein lies the sense of appre- 
ciation of such. We perceive, too, the harmony be- 
tween thought and expression, and the melodious re- 
lations of the words to each other in the rhythm ; and 
this again is so far cognitive. But these perceptions 
too are accompanied by emotional tone giving rise to 
our sense of appreciation. It should be particularly 
noticed that the aesthetic tone, as such, is quite dis- 
tinct from any intellectual and cognitive process, 
though it is the emotional accompaniment of that 
process ; Just as the pleasure we derive from eating a 
good dinner is quite distinct from, though it accom- 
panies, the nutritive value of the operation. 

The relation of that which is in the focus of con- 
sciousness to the mental background in which it is 
set forms an important factor in aesthetic tone. This 
is seen in the employment of that which is known as 



200 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

suspense. Here a series of minor relationships are 
presented so as to prepare a background in which 
the emphatic relation shall be set. An example 
from Macaulay's Reform Bill speech may be taken 
in illustration : '^If, sir, I wished to make such a 
foreigner clearly understand what I consider as the 
great defect of our system, I would conduct him 
through that immense city which lies to the north of 
Great Russell Street and Oxford Street — a city supe- 
rior in size and in population to the capitals of many 
mighty kingdoms ; and probably superior in opulence, 
intelligence, and general respectability to any city in 
the world. I would conduct him through that inter- 
minable succession of streets and squares, all consist- 
ing of well-built and well -furnished houses. I would 
make him observe the brilliancy of the shops, and the 
crowd of well-appointed equipages. I would show 
him that magnificent circle of palaces which surrounds 
the Regent^s Park. I would tell him that the rental 
of this district was far greater than that of the whole 
kingdom of Scotland at the time of the Union. And 
then I would tell him that this was an unrepresented 
district.^' Note how the background of conscious- 
ness is here prepared for the final emphatic statement. 
And note, in passing, how skilfully the author par- 
ticularizes and brings the picture home to the eye 
through his description. 

Nor is it only in the employment of the figure of 
suspense that the influence of the mental background 
makes itself felt. We all know how some particular 
line of a poem, or speech in a play, or scene in a novel, 
fails to carry its due force if torn from its con- 
text. Its full weight and beauty is appreciated only 



LITERATURE 201 

when the mental background has been prepared by 
what has gone before. How much even Portia's 
splendid outburst, beginning 

" The quality of mercy is not strained," 

loses, if Shylock's question, '' On what compulsion ?" 

be not borne in mind. Or, to give but one further 

example, how tame and trite, taken by itself, is the 

line, 

*' And never lifted up a single stone ! " 

And yet, as the line stands in Wordsworth's idyll 
Michael, it is, at any rate to my appreciation, one of 
the most profoundly touching and pathetic lines in 
the whole range of our literature. Few who have en- 
tered into the spirit of the poem could read it aloud 
without a break in their voice. 

We have all probably felt the thinness, so to speak, 
of the earlier chapters of a novel, especially on first 
reading. There is as yet no mental background 
which in any way bears upon the facts which are 
described, and in which those facts can find their ap- 
propriate setting. On the other hand, our fullest 
appreciation of a novel or drama is when we review 
it in memory. The series of events are seen fore- 
shortened in remembrance ; the minor events retire 
into the dim background ; while the salient features 
of the development stand out clearly in their due re- 
lations, the perception of which is accompanied by 
the aesthetic tone of appreciation. Thus, too, in a 
sister art, Mozart speaks of ^' seeing the whole of if 
(a piece of music, even a long one) ^^at a single 
glance of my mind " ; and adds, '* The best of all is 



l>Ol! PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

the hearing of it all at once." For the purpose of 
appreciation in restrospect it is important that there 
should be a single definite development to which 
minor series of events are subordinate. When there 
are several co-ordinate series, not duly related, the 
effect on the mind is confusing. We say that the 
novel is wanting in artistic unity. Silas Marner is 
an admirable example of such artistic unity ; Thack- 
eray's Virginians being wanting in this respect. 

In saying that a novel is wanting in artistic unity, 
we are expressing si judgment. Such a judgment, it 
should be noted, though it is exercised in matters of 
appreciation which are concerned with the emotional 
aspect of our conscious experience, is in itself intel- 
lectual and cognitive. It involves a standard of ex- 
cellence to which a particular art-product is com- 
pared. The standard is often spoken of as an ideal ; 
and such an ideal is the product of reflective generali- 
zation. It is the net result of all our appreciative 
experience. The act of judgment is the perception 
of the relation of the particular art-product, concern- 
ing which an opinion is expressed, to our ideal 
standard. If we say that Tennyson's lines, 

'' So all day long the sound of battle roU'd 
Among the mountains by the winter sea," 

are admirable in their harmony of thought and ex- 
pression, we are asserting that they reach or approach 
our ideal of excellence. 

It may be well very briefly to compare an aesthetic 
judgment with that expressed in the minor premise 
of the syllogism. The logical judgment is charac- 
terized by its definiteness. For example — 



LITERATURE 203 

Mammals are warm-blooded ; 
A sheep is a mammal ; 
Therefore a sheep is warm-blooded. 
In the judgment here expressed in the minor 
premise we assert that the sheep conforms to the 
standard definition of a mammal ; it is a particular 
example of a general class. But in assthetic judg- 
ments there is none of this definiteness and logical 
exactness. The literary ideal is something which is 
quite real and yet quite undefined. If I say that the 
following lines of Rudyard Kipling's Seal Lullciby 
are excellent in their kind, I express a literary judg- 
ment — 

" Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow, 
Oh, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease ! 
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, 
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas ! " 

I am not aware, however, of having formulated any 
generalization of what the peculiar excellence of a 
seal lullaby should be ; and I certainly am not pre- 
pared to throw my conclusion into logical form. 
And this would seem to be characteristic of aesthetic 
judgments in general. It is true that we can formu- 
late some few canons of esthetic criticism. But they 
do not go far to help us. And if some one asks me, 
'^ Why do you regard these lines of Rudyard Kip- 
ling's as excellent in their kind t" \ can say but lit- 
tle in reply. And I shall feel that this little is alto- 
gether inadequate. It is quite possible, moreover, 
that my own individual ideal may not coincide with 
what may be termed the social ideal — using this term 
for the ideal of those among us who from their re- 



204 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

fined and highly trained faculty of appreciation are 
best fitted to give an opinion in questions of litera- 
ture. And this fact — that there is no absolute uni- 
formity of ideal — serves further to illustrate the dis- 
tinction between literary and logical judgments. 

This distinction may be further illustrated by draw- 
ing a comparison between literature and science. 
The primary aim and object of science is to explain 
phenomena ; its excellencies are accuracy, organiza- 
tion, and rigid logical sequence. It might be de- 
scribed as a concatenation of ^' therefores.'^ On the 
other hand, the aim and object of literature is to 
evoke emotional tone, to appeal to our sense of the 
beautiful, the grand, the tender, the pathetic, the 
humorous. Its excellencies are melody, harmony, 
artistic unity, beauty of thought and expression. It 
is not a concatenation of '' therefores," but a sequence 
insensibly enchained by a delicate suggestiveness. It 
depends not so much on logic, though logic may be 
insensibly present, as on insight. The one is pri- 
marily cognitive and intellectual ; the other concerns 
the emotional aspect of states of consciousness. But 
by this it is not meant that science is intellectual and 
literature merely emotional. The best literature is 
often splendidly intellectual ; the loftier scientific 
truths stir some of us with a profound emotion. The 
point is, that the primary aim of the man of science 
is intellectual and cognitive ; while the primary aim 
of the man of letters is aesthetic and emotional in the 
pyschological sense of the term. The one inter- 
prets nature under the forms of the intellect ; the 
other interprets nature under the forms of aesthetic 
tone. The one strives to make his atmosphere per- 



LITERATURE 205 

fectly clear and transparent ; the other chooses the 
veiled tints of sunrise and sunset, the reflected lights 
of the clouds, or the half-revealing, half-concealing 
radiance of night. Not that the poet^s atmosphere 
is of necessity misty or vague, it may be so transparent 
that every minutest detail of his landscape is clearly 
visible. What could be more pellucid than the at- 
mosphere of this little picture of Coleridge^s ? — 

" There is not wind enough to twirl 
The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 
That dances as often dance it can, 
Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky." 

But whereas the man of science has no choice but to 

work under the conditions of the greatest possible 
intellectual lucidity, the man of letters is free to 
choose the conditions which conduce to the highest 
artistic effect. 

It is a mistake, however, to regard science and art 
as antithetical. The man of science is, or should be, 
an artist. His art-work is the interpretation of 
nature in its widest sense under the forms of the in- 
tellect ; just as the art-works of the man of letters is 
the interpretation of nature under the forms of 
aesthetic tone. Man of science and man of letters 
are both creative artists. It is not science and art 
that are antithetical ; but the art-work of science 
and the art-work of literature, appealing as they do 
to different aspects of our mental nature. But if 
they are antithetical, they are not, or they need 
not be, antagonistic. No doubt a man may, by ex- 
clusive devotion either to literature or to science, 
starve down the other side of his nature and become 



206 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

lopsided. It is our aim in education to prevent 
such lopsidedness. And there is in modern times 
a danger — a real and very ominous danger — that 
the growth, not so much of science as of what 
we may term scientism (which may be defined as 
science minus the artistic ideal), may conduce to the 
development of a specific class of lopsided scientists. 
All who have the interests of true education at heart 
should be alive to this danger. Technical instruction 
is of great value ; but it cannot afford that all-round 
training and discipline of the mental powers which 
is the aim of education. 

Although, however, there is no necessary antago- 
nism between literature and science, it is undoubtedly 
true that, either through nature or nurture, the 
same individual is seldom man of science and man of 
letters in equal degree. Nor is it desirable that he 
should be. But the man of science should at least 
have some sympathy with literature, and the man of 
letters some appreciation of the art-work of science. 
And whether he is primarily scientific or primarily 
literary depends to a large extent on the nature of 
the mental background. In man, as a rational being, 
this background is in large degree relational : in the 
man of science the aspect of the relations therein is 
primarily logical ; while in the man of letters it is 
primarily aesthetic. In the one it is illuminated by 
the cold, clear light of reason ; in the other it is 
suffused with the many-hued tints of emotion. And 
there is this difference between the method of presen- 
tation of his work by the man of science and the man 
of letters — especially the poet. In an adequate 
treatise on science it is expected of the author to 



LITERATURE 207 

supply to a very large extent the background in 
which his conceptions are set. He has not only to 
give us his thought, but to exhibit with due diligence 
and care its relations, and its exact position in the 
scheme of knowledge. Not to do so is to fail in 
the art of scientific exposition. With the poet it is 
different. It is no part of his function to supply the 
mental background. That you must bring for your- 
self to the study and enjoyment of his work. And 
the fuller and richer your background, the more 
sympathetically will you respond to the poet's appeal. 
Hence the concentration and condensedness of poetry ; 
hence the fact that it is suggestive rather than ex- 
pository ; and hence the fact that, if we have a poor 
thin background, Shakespeare, and those who sit 
nearest to his throne, will appeal to us in vain. 

To draw but one more distinction between poetry 
as the flower of literature, and science as the embodi- 
ment of rational explanation, we may note that, since 
the artist must ever breathe the spirit of his art into 
the materials with which he works, we find that, for 
the man of science, all nature is instinct with reason ; 
while for the poet the whole universe " trembles with 
song." As the poet from whom I borrow this ex- 
pression — Mr. William Watson — sings it — 

*' Lo, with the ancient 
Roots of man's nature 
Twines the eternal 
Passion of Song. 

" Ever Love fans it, 
Ever Life feeds it, 
Time cannot age it, 
Death cannot slay. 



208 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

'* Deep in the world-heart 
Stand its foundations, 
Tangled with all things, 
Twin-made with all. 

" Nay, what is Nature's 
Self, but an endless 
Strife toward music, 
Euphony, rhyme? 

" Trees in their blooming, 
Tides in their flowing, 
Stars in their circling. 
Tremble with song. 

" God on His throne is 
Eldest of poets ; 
Unto His measures 
Moveth the whole." 

In conclusion, I would remind the teacher that his 
ministry in the cultivation of the faculty of literary 
appreciation is far more indirect than it is in the 
training of the intellect. His guidance here is far 
more insensible. So much depends upon what may 
be termed a literary atmosphere. My own head- 
master, in my schoolboy years, never let slip an op- 
portunity of introducing incidental illustrations, in 
the midst of our ordinary work, from the best authors 
in prose and verse. And out of school hours noth- 
ing would delight him more than for his pupils to 
afford him opportunities of encouraging us and help- 
ing us to a healthy appreciation of good literature. 
More can be done towards establishing a mental back- 
ground of appreciation for art-work, whether literary 
or scientific, by the stimulating influence of one who 
has a spirit of enthusiasm, than by any amount of 



LITERATURE 209 

set and formal teaching. And the teacher must 
never forget this cardinal fact — that observation, ac- 
curate and sympathetic, true-eyed and true-hearted, 
is the mother alike of literature and of science, and 
that just in so far as we too are observers shall we be 
able to appreciate the art-work of science and the art- 
work of literature. 
14 



CHAPTER X 

CHAEACTER AND CONDUCT 

What is the aim and object of the ministry of the 
teacher ? The general answer to this question has 
already been given : To furnish the best possible 
conditions for all-round development. In somewhat 
greater detail we may say that the teacher has in view 
the following aims : — 

1. To aid in, that is to say, to afford suitable con- 
ditions for, the development of sense-experience, the 
correlation of sense-data, and the co-ordination of 
activities ; and thus to fit the child to deal practically 
and efficiently with his natural environment. 

2. To aid in the development of the perceptive and 
rational faculties, and in the correlative powers of ap- 
prehension and description, and of comprehension 
and explanation ; and to foster the ''how" attitude 
and the '* why " attitude. 

3. To fit him to play some special part in the social 
community, and to perform wisely and well the gen- 
eral duties of citizenship. 

4. To foster his faculty of appreciation, and to fit 
him to get the highest and best pleasure out of life, 
and to give such pleasure to others. 

5. To aid him to reach right conceptions of an 

210 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 211 

ideal self and an ideal community ; and to foster an 
effective desire for their practical realization. 

6. And in general to aid him to make the best use 
— best for the community and best for himself — of 
all his powers. 

The foregoing list makes no pretence to be com- 
plete or exhaustive. It may, however, be objected 
that, not only is it incomplete, but it leaves out what 
many people regard as the central and most impor- 
tant of all the objects of education, since no mention is 
made of earning a livelihood, or of making money and 
a position in the world. Although I am fully aware 
of the importance of this object — although in any 
enumeration of the motives of human conduct and 
human endeavor its omission would imply blindness 
to the facts of our existence — still it does not appear 
to me necessary to introduce it into a statement of 
the aims of the teacher. It is sufficient for us " to 
fit the individual to play some special part in the 
social community." If the individual so fitted plays 
that part to the best of his ability, the perform- 
ance of the work and duty thereby entailed will meet 
its due reward. Suppose that we are training a man 
to be a lawyer or an engineer ; our part is to fit him 
to do his work honestly and well, conscientiously and 
without scamping. We fit him to play efficiently his 
special part in the social community. The money he 
earns and the position he wins are the social recogni- 
tion of work done and duty fulfilled. Of this aspect 
of the matter we are neither ignorant nor forgetful ; 
but it does not primarily concern us. 

The word social strikes the keynote of this chapter. 
Much that has been said in previous chapters has 



212 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

tacit and implied reference to our social state. Now 
we have to give to this social condition its due prom- 
inence. If our whole system of education do not 
bear fruit in character and conduct, of what avail 
is it? 

Even in the correlation of sense-data and the co- 
ordination of activities under the relatively simple 
conditions of sense-experience the social factor is 
by no means absent ; for the environment in which 
this experience develops is from the first social in its 
nature. The activities must be performed in just 
relation to the like activities of others. Description 
and explanation have no meaning apart from our 
social state. The intimate relation of language and 
thought, to which we devoted the eighth chapter, 
carries with it a similar implication ; while literature, 
music, painting, sculpture, and the whole field of art 
are a subtle means of social communication. In our 
appreciation of the best art we feel that we are rising 
above our lower and merely individual interests, 
above those pleasures which are mean and trivial, 
low and sordid, to those which are pure and enno- 
bling, and which appeal to the higher and more dis- 
tinctively social side of our nature. It is the func- 
tion of art to raise us into the region of lasting and 
enduring interests, and to minister to that apprecia- 
tion which is ours in virtue of our distinctively human 
and social state. It deals with 

"Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the 
end." 

But when we come to conduct we have something 
more than appreciation. It does not suffice to ad- 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 213 

mire, no matter how truly, the beauty of nature or 
of human life as interpreted by art ; it does not suf- 
fice to be touched, no matter how deeply, by tlie pity 
and the pathos of existence ; it does not suffice to 
appreciate, no matter how delicately, the highest 
achievements of human genius. \ We must ourselves 
be up and doing. We must play our part in the busy 
social world. We have work to do and duties to per- 
form, and into this work and these duties we must 
throw our heart and soul. And part of our duty as 
teachers is to foster this spirit of active endeavor and 
to guide it to right ends. 

Before considering in what manner the teacher 
may most profitably exert his influence in this re- 
spect, it will be well to devote our attention to the 
motives in and through which control is exercised 
over conduct. The relative strength of these mo- 
tives is one of the determining factors of character. 

It must be remembered that there is a natural and 
inherent tendency to action in virtue of innate and 
inherited capacities or proclivities. From our pres- 
ent point of view we may term such action impulsive. 
It is the characteristic of impulsive action that it is 
not under due control. The impulse may be either 
good or bad. However we may explain, or attempt 
to explain, the mode of origin of the innate and 
hereditary tendency — and this is a difficult problem 
which we cannot here discuss — the fact remains that 
some of us come into the world with a larger percent- 
age of good impulses or bad impulses, as the case 
may be, than others. But the characteristic of such 
impulses, whether good or bad, is this : that they are, 
as such, uncontrolled. A man walking by the water- 



214 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

side sees a child in peril of drowning, and instantly 
springs to the rescue ; a high-spirited youth sees a 
girl insulted by a blackguard, and promptly knocks 
him down ; a poor starving wretch sees a child carry- 
ing her father's dinner, and hungrily grabs it. These 
actions call forth in different degree our praise or 
blame ; but they are alike in being impulsive. They 
are not the outcome of determinate control. We 
speak, indeed, of motives for such actions, saying that 
the poor wretch is impelled to his deed by motives of 
hunger. But it is well to reserve the term motives 
for the determinants of deliberate action ; and to 
speak not of the motives, but of the pro7n2)tmgs of 
impulse. Happy is he who inherits the promptings 
of social, and not of anti-social, impulse. 

The motives under the influence of which we ex- 
ercise control over our actions are so various, that 
their adequate analysis presents one of the most 
difficult problems of psychological inquiry. Fortu- 
nately, it is not necessary for us to discuss the matter 
with any minuteness of detail. Let us therefore 
consider the question from a very broad and general 
point of view. It stands thus : Each individual is 
prompted to action by certain innate and inherent 
impulses, good, bad, or indifferent ; he is more or 
less dissatisfied with the actions to which he is thus 
prompted, and he therefore exercises control over his 
conduct so as to guide it to ends other than those to 
which impulse prompts. That which we wish to 
know is — (1) what are these other ends, and (2) what 
are the motives for the guidance of conduct to these 
ends ? 

To answer these questions in detail is, I repeat, a 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 215 

matter of exceeding difficulty, involving much subtle 
analysis ; but to answer them in the broad and gen- 
eral way which suffices for our present purpose is not 
so difficult. The " other ends," in all their varying 
complexity under changing and differing circum- 
stances, may be summed up in a few words, which 
cover all the multiplicity of their details. The self 
of impulse does not satisfy us ; our end in view is to 
realize, through guidance and control, our ideal self, 
to attain unto that better, fuller, richer, truer self 
that we would be, in place of the meagre and unsatis- 
factory self that we are. This, it appears to me, is 
the essential aim in the guidance of conduct. And 
what are the motives for the guidance of conduct to- 
wards the always incomplete, but, as we hope, the 
constantly less incomplete, realization of our ideal 
self ? This question, too, difficult as it is to answer 
in detail, can be answered in a general way almost in 
a word. The ideal self must le an object of desire. 
Any approach thereto must be accompanied by the 
emotional tone of satisfaction and content ; any fall- 
ing away therefrom, by the emotional tone of dis- 
satisfaction and discontent. 

In every individual character there is on the one 
hand the self of natural impulse, and on the other 
hand the ideal self, not indeed clearly defined and for- 
mulated, but seen, sometimes dimly, sometimes with 
greater distinctness, in its different aspects under 
the varying circumstances of life. And between 
these two stands the product of their interaction, the 
self as actually realized in practical conduct. This 
self it is, on the actions of which the bystanders 
pronounce judgment — a judgment which should be 



216 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

softened by the fact that no one can say what is the 
strength for good or ill of the impulsive prompting ; 
while the nature of the ideal self, and the power of 
control effectual to its realization, are alike difficult 
of estimation. 

We seem, however, so far, to have left on one side 
that which was said to be the keynote of this chapter. 
The ideal self, it may be urged, is a purely individual 
matter ; while the word '' social " was said to strike 
our keynote. But the ideal self is by no means a 
purely individual matter. It is, indeed, individual 
to me in so far as it is my ideal self which I desire to 
realize in conduct ; but it is a social self, a self set in 
a complex social environment, that I must set before 
myself as the goal of my endeavors. It is absolutely 
impossible for us, even if we would, to shake our- 
selves free of our social surroundings. We live in a 
community larger or smaller, and in reference to that 
community our conduct is largely moulded. 

But though, since we are social beings, there is, in 
the conception of an ideal self, tacit reference to the 
community in the midst of which we carry on our 
life and work, yet it will be well to bring this impor- 
tant factor into due prominence. For not only do 
we strive to realize an ideal self, but we endeavor 
to modify and influence our neighbors ; and this 
both in reference to their relations to ourselves, and 
in respect of their relations to the community as a 
whole. Hence we formulate with more or less dis- 
tinctness an ideal cominunity, to the realization of 
which we must contribute in every way in our power. 
Herein, then, we appear to have in broad and gen- 
eral outline the ends and aims of conduct ; and the 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 217 

task of the teacher in this respect would seem to be, 
in the words of our fifth head, as stated at the begin- 
ning of this chapter : To aid him wliom we would 
educate to reach right conceptions of an ideal self and 
an ideal community ; ayid to foster an effective desire 
for their practical realization. 

It must not be supposed that by the ideal self and 
the ideal community I mean something dim, distant, 
and Utopian ; something very pleasant and beautiful 
to dream about, but having its place in the shadowy 
cloudland of the unattainable. That is not at all my 
meaning. If our ideals are incapable of at least 
partial realization, they will not be operative on con- 
duct. We may dream away our lives in admiring 
them, and sighing at our impotency to attain unto 
them, but we shall not be stimulated by them to 
honest active endeavor. No. Our ideals must be 
practical ; betterment rather than absolute perfection 
must be our device. They must grow with our life, 
and develop with our widening experience. Always 
beyond and above us, leading us onward and upward, 
our ideal must be distinctly, and yet not too far, in 
advance of what has already been realized. For if at 
any time our conduct should realize our ideal, a 
higher ideal is forthwith conceived, and the interval 
is again reconstituted. We are like climbers ascend- 
ing a mountain peak ; we see before us the summit in 
its glittering beauty as the ultimate goal of our en- 
deavors, but to reach it we must ascend slowly and 
carefully, fixing our attention on some vantage point 
just above us, and when that is reached looking a 
little higher. If we make straight for the ideal sum- 
mit, we shall probably fall into the first crevasse. 



218 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

But if we proceed upwards slowly and surely, we 
may — but here the analogy fails. The summit of 
perfection in conduct we may not hope to reach. 

It is hardly necessary to draw attention to the fact 
that there is no uniformity, nay, let us rather say 
that there is indefinite diversity, in the ideals both 
of self and community which different men and 
women conceive and endeavor to realize. This 
diversity is indeed as wide as the diversity of human 
character. And not only is it difficult or impossible 
to define the social ideal (p. 203) in these matters ; 
it is exceedingly difficult to define the individual 
ideal in any particular case. For the ideal, though 
it involves cognitive elements, is not primarily a 
matter of cognition ; nor does an ideal of conduct, 
any more than an ideal of beauty, admit of that sum- 
mary preciseness of definition which is so eminently 
characteristic of a purely intellectual generalization. 
This man will place self before the State or com- 
munity at large, and regard the realization of indi- 
vidual character as the highest object of endeavor. 
That man with broader social sympathies will place 
first the realization of an ideal community, and will 
regard as essential to the ideal self the due subor- 
dination of individual desires to a desire for social 
well-being. For some the relations of self to the 
State will constantly be viewed in the light of expe- 
diency, and the means of attaining the realization of 
the ideal will be predominantly dictated by prudence. 
For others the light in which these relations are 
viewed is not that of the expedient but that of the 
right, and the means of attaining the realization of 
the ideal will be predominantly dictated by the sense 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 219 

of duty. For the one, any failure to reach the ideal 
standard of conduct will be accompanied by regret 
for error ; for the other, such failure will give rise to 
regret, rising perhaps to remorse, for wrong. Moral- 
ists draw a very sharp line of demarcation between 
prudential motives and moral motives ; and no doubt, 
as a matter of ethics, they are both wise and right in 
doing so. But the difference is very largely one of 
aspect. The same motive may be prudential from 
one point of view, and right from another point of 
view ; and the action to which it leads may satisfy at 
once the requirements both of expediency and of 
duty. 

But what is right? What is duty? It is ob- 
viously quite impossible adequately to discuss these 
questions. It must suffice to answer them from that 
broad and general point of view from which we are 
considering the whole subject. In the light of what 
has already been said, the answer is not far to seek. 
If there has taken form in the mind of any man or 
woman an ideal self and an ideal community, then 
any action which conduces to the realization of that 
ideal is right ; any action which leads away from the 
ideal is wrong. The constant endeavor to realize the 
ideal is one's duty. These answers may be, and no 
doubt are, imperfect and inadequate ; but they will 
be perhaps more serviceable to us in our practical 
consideration of the subject than definitions involv- 
ing more subtle analysis. 

And where, in these answers, is there place for 
that cardinal principle of all vital ethics, a man's 
duty to his neighbor ? In the first place, it may be 
replied, that, as already indicated, my relations to my 



220 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

neighbor form part of my ideal self, which is a self set 
ill a social environment. In the second place, it may 
be replied, that my neighbor is one of the constituents 
of that practically existent State whose betterment 
is an object implied in the ideal community which it 
is my desire to realize. Thus, my duty to my neigh- 
bor, both as an individual in particular relations with 
myself, and as a member of the social community, are 
by no means lost sight of. So important, however, 
is this neighborly relationship, that it is scarcely pos- 
sible to lay too much stress on it. The ideal com- 
munity is generalized and conceptual; my neighbor is 
its practical embodiment in flesh and blood. 

It is to my neighbor, also, thus before me in the 
living flesh, that my sympathies go forth. Sympathy 
is a matter of that emotional tone to which atten- 
tion has already been directed. The performance of 
certain actions carries with it a pleasurable, presen- 
tative, emotional tone. When we see similar actions 
performed by others, a corresponding re-presentative, 
emotional tone is called up. For example, one who 
is fond of riding or swimming, and derives keen 
pleasure from the exercise, experiences sympathetic 
pleasure when he sees others in full enjoyment of a 
canter or a bathe. So, too, the sight of sorrow or 
suffering calls forth in us a sympathetic emotion as 
we put ourselves in the place of the mourner or the 
patient. And we are wont to give expression to our 
sympathy : we congratulate the rider or the swimmer, 
if opportunity serves, on his success ; we commiser- 
ate with the mourner or patient. Nay, we go further 
than this in our sympathy. "VVe take an active part 
in the promotion of the happiness and well-being of 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 221 

our neighbors, and in the alleviation of their suffer- 
ing and distress. To this, be it noted, we are 
prompted by our sympathetic impulses. But these 
impulses, no less than those which are wholly self- 
regarding, need guidance and restraint under the 
control of the will. For our sympathy may prompt 
us to actions which on reflection will be seen to be 
neither prudent nor right. Hence, even in this mat- 
ter, so far as guidance and control are concerned, we 
come back to our old position : we endeavor to 
realize an ideal self whose sympathy is under wise 
and moral restraint. 

One way in which we express our sympathy is 
through approbation and disapprolation. We should 
perhaps distinguish between (1) a mere sense of 
approbation, which is no more than a feeling of 
sympathetic satisfaction, expressed or unexpressed ; 
and (2) that more intellectual form of approbation 
which implies the perception of the relation of that 
which is approved to a standard or ideal of conduct. 
Approbation thus stands in the same relation to 
conduct that appreciation does to literary or other 
art-products. Both imply a standard or ideal ; both 
express a judgment that the standard or ideal has or 
has not been reached. In neither case need there be 
any reference to the grounds of judgment. The 
judgment expressed in approbation is no more sus- 
ceptible of being stated in set syllogistic form than 
is the judgment expressed in appreciation. Although 
there is here a social ideal analogous to that which we 
briefly considered (p. 203) in connection with appreci- 
ation, yet this is so deeply tinged with emotional tone, 
and is so largely subjective in origin, that it does not 



222 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

admit of that universal acceptance which is char- 
acteristic of the premises of the syllogism. 

There can be no question as to the exceeding im- 
portance of approbation and disapprobation as de- 
terminants of conduct. Much depends here, however, 
upon the amount of sympathy. The unsympathetic 
person is very little influenced by praise or blame ; 
approbation and disapprobation do not to any marked 
extent cause any alteration in his course through life. 
On the other hand, the man of artistic temperament 
is one who is generally keenly sensitive to approbation, 
and one whose naturally strong impulses, self-regard- 
ing and sympathetic, are perhaps more readily guided 
under the influence of the praise and blame of those 
who move within his sj)ecial artistic circle — of those, 
that is to say, with whom he is in sympathy — than 
under the influence of any other motives. His ideal 
self is essentially one with which others must keenly 
and enthusiastically sympathize. 

One question may here be suggested before we pass 
on. If a man have framed low and sordid ideals — 
and we cannot blind ourselves to the fact that this 
may only too often be the case — is it his duty to 
endeavor to realize them ? Is it not rather his duty 
to frame and endeavor to realize better and nobler 
ideals ? To this question we must reply that it is a 
man's duty to act, so far as he can, in accordance with 
his own standard of conduct, whatever that standard 
may be. It is unfortunately the only real standard 
he has. When we speak of better and nobler ideals, 
they are our ideals, not his. And no doubt it is a 
duty for us who pass this judgment to do what we 
can to raise his ideals. The question, however, once 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 223 

more brings into prominence the social ideal, by which 
is meant, not the average ideal of all the members of 
the community, but the ideal of those who, by general 
consent of those who are specially fitted to express an 
opinion in the matter, represent the community at its 
best. Although we cannot say, in the light of our 
guiding principle, that it is a man^s duty to endeavor 
to act up to this social ideal if it be not also his own 
ideal, yet we may say that it is the duty of the com- 
munity in which such social ideal has taken form, to 
take all reasonable and legitimate steps to bring 
about the realization of that ideal by all its members. 
And it is at once the duty and the privilege of the 
teacher, who is in this respect the more or less 
accredited agent of the community, to do all in his 
power to set before his pupils the social ideal of 
character and conduct. 

We have now to consider how the influence of the 
teacher may most effectively be brought to bear on 
those with whom he has to deal. The first point to 
notice is that the teaching should be mainly indirect. 
That is to say, the most effectual method is not the 
inculcation of moral maxims, not the supply of a 
certain amount of ethical material to cognition for 
intellectual assimilation, but an insensible moral and 
prudential influence ever present as a wholesome and 
stimulating atmosphere. Ideals of conduct, like 
ideals of literary beauty, cannot be directly imparted ; 
all that we can do is to foster their growth and in- 
sensibly to influence the direction of that growth. 

We may take it that the actions of the little child 
are at first wholly impulsive, and that the impulses 
are in the early days of life altogether self-regarding. 



224 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

The sympathetic impulses come later ; and these^ so 
soon as they appear, must be fostered and guided. It 
is presumably to the mother that interest and sym- 
pathy are first extended. But gradually this sym- 
pathy widens, embracing the nurse, father, sisters, 
brothers, and, perhaps, the four-footed playmates. 
For some time, however, the home, with its immedi- 
ate surroundings and branches, forms the utmost 
extent of the emotional impulses. There is as yet no 
room in the heart for more extended interests and 
sympathies. But ere long the time comes when the 
school, the parish or town, the native land, and per- 
haps eventually the whole brotherhood of man, come 
in for their share of the awakening emotional im- 
pulses ; es2)rit de corps, patriotism, and perhaps 
nniversalism, have their birth. 

And as the sympathies widen and the sympathetic 
impulses become more extended in their range, more 
or less definite ideals of conduct take form in the 
mind, self-control is established, and reason guides 
the impulses to ends which gain the approval of 
conscience and of common sense. It is part of the 
aim of education to afford the most satisfactory con- 
ditions for the formation of right and wise ideals ; of 
a frank, courageous, true, and pure ideal self, and of 
an ideal community in which co-operation to the best 
and highest ends is an object of endeavor among all 
the members. 

The personal and magnetic influence of the teacher, 
whether the teacher be the parent or another, is here 
of great importance. The influence is more by example 
than by precept. At all events, when example in any 
way contradicts precept, it is the former rather than 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 225 

the latter that will be influential, precepts not acted 
upon being regarded as shams, and tending to weaken 
the influence not only of precept but also of example. 

In school-life, the general tone of the community, 
which at this stage of life represents the State, is of 
enormous importance. Xothing is of more vital 
moment in a great school than the social standard 
of ''good form" that is developed therein. It is 
scarcely too much to say that the schoolboy's conduct 
is more strongly influenced by a desire to conform 
to the school standard of usage and current opinion 
than by any other motive. For one who throws him- 
self heartily into the school-life, the stigma of " bad 
form" is something to be avoided at all hazards. 
And though the standard of '' form " may alter as we 
go through life, yet the desire to conform to social 
usage, and so to act as to win social approbation and 
to escape social disapprobation, is, it would seem, the 
predominant motive with the majority of us, so long 
as it does not directly conflict with prudential self- 
interest. Happy the school, therefore, and happy 
the community, which possesses a high standard of 
social usage and custom ; which possesses, in a word, 
a high social ideal of what the community should be 
and should do. 

In the study of history splendid opportunities are 
afforded to the teacher of giving an indirect impetus 
to the development in the pupiFs mind both of the 
ideal self and of the ideal community. For history 
presents us with concrete examples of strenuous 
endeavor towards the realization both of individual 
character and of a better social condition of the com- 
munity at large. However open it may be to criticism 
15 



226 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

from the point of view of the scientific historian, there 
can be no question that hero-worship is of great im- 
portance in the development of the character of the 
worshipper. Hence it has been said : Tell me a man's 
heroes, and I will read you his character. I have 
before said that one of the main points of value of 
history as a school subject, and even as a subject for 
our bigger schoolboys at the university, is that it 
widens the sympathies. I would now add that, while 
it widens the sympathies, it also affords concrete 
examples of conduct and picturesque material for an 
insensible and unobtrusive training in approbation 
and disapprobation. It also affords us the material 
for drawing the distinction, with reference to concrete 
examples, between merit and virtue. There are some 
types of character so happily constituted that we may 
say of them that there is no merit in their virtue. 
For merit is proportional to the struggle. And 
there's many a schoolboy, in whom self-mastery is not 
yet established, whose half-won goodness, under dif- 
ficult circumstances, is more meritorious than the 
easy self-denial of one of maturer years. 

Literature, too, as well as history, affords concrete 
examples of conduct which should be utilized by the 
teacher in the same unobtrusive and insensible fash- 
ion, not moralizing and preaching from the literary 
text, but stimulating, by his own enthusiasm for cer- 
tain excellencies of character, a like enthusiasm in the 
minds of his pupils. In many cases the literary 
artist has had in view this wholesome influence on 
his readers in the creation of his characters. It is 
part of his aim to subtly indicate through the por- 
trayal of character what is his own ideal self and what 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 227 

his ideal community. And it is one of the functions 
of the artist to lead us to see, through the delicate 
emphasis which characterizes his synthesis, features 
which would otherwise have escaped our duller 
vision. As Browning says in his Fra Lippo Lippi — 

" For, don't you mark ? we're made so that we love 
First when we see them painted, things we have passed 
Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see ; 
And so they are better, painted — better to us. 
Which is the same thing. Art was given for that 
God uses us to help each other so, 
Lending our minds out." 

What we have to do as teachers is to ''lend our 
minds out " to the best possible purpose. For we too 
are artists ; and the materials with which we have to 
deal are human minds and their environment. We 
have so to organize the conditions of growth that 
there shall result the development of fine character 
and right conduct. As already pointed out, we are 
mainly at work upon the mental background. It is 
our object to make this background as rich and full 
and orderly as possible, so that whatever is brought 
to the focus of consciousness shall be set in a rela- 
tional background which shall give it meaning ; and 
so that our pupils may be able to feel the truth of 
the words which Browning puts into the mouth of Fra 
Lippo Lippi in a passage which follows closely upon 
that which I have just quoted — 

" This world's no blot for us 
Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good: 
To find its meaning is my meat and drink." 

And, once more, so that not only the intellect may 
be stirred, but the whole background thrill with 



228 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

emotional tone, and our pupil may again exclaim 
with Browning — 

*' O world, as God has made it ! all is beauty ; 
And knowing this is love, and love is duty." 

There can be no question that this adequate pre- 
paredness of the background of which I am speaking 
adds enormously to our enjoyment as well as to our 
power. I stood a few days ago on the battlements 
of Stirling Castle, and, having at length dispensed 
with the kindly importunities of the guide, looked 
round on a scene which, even to my imperfect knowl- 
edge of Scottish history, was set in a background 
splendidly rich in noble, unselfish, and patriotic en- 
deavor. As I stood and felt that the heroes who 
had breathed their undying spirit on the place were 
actuated by noble ideals both of self and State, a 
guide came round discoursing in set phrase of places 
and dates. A worthy Cockney turned to me, whom 
apparently he recognized as a brother Cockney — for 
I too was born within the sound of Bow Bells — and 
said, '' I don't think much of this place. It ain't a 
patch on the Tower of London. But a lot of John- 
nies seem to have worried around here.'' I fear his 
background was terribly meagre. He told me that 
it was the block and headsman's axe that interested 
him most in the Tower of London ; and he seemed 
to have some slight glow of enthusiasm when the 
guide indicated the position of the Heading Hill 
and Stone, and spoke of the execution of the Duke 
of Albany and his two sons, with his father-in-law 
the Earl of Lennox. Then he began to feel that he 
had not come to Stirling quite in vain. 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 229 

Think what a man misses from the point of view 
of pure enjoyment if the background of conscious- 
ness be nowise prepared by a knowledge of the great 
deeds which are recorded in the pages of history, 
and by a knowledge of what men of action and men 
of thought have done, not only for their own time but 
also for us. They enter, if indeed it be worth their 
while, Wordsworth's cottage at Grasmere, and leave 
it with a shrug of the shoulders, saying that they 
suppose it was good enough for a poet. They pass 
through the village of Chalfont St. Giles, and do not 
think it worth while to look into the little room in 
which Paradise Lost received its finishing touches. 
They go to Stratford-on-Avon, and wonder what 
makes Americans flock thither. But it is with the 
effect on character and conduct that I am now chiefly 
concerned. The man who, from poverty of mental 
background, is stirred by none of these things, misses 
an influence on character and a stimulus to conduct 
which are of incalculable value. A soldier whom I 
met some time ago told me that, when he was a young 
subaltern, and was getting slack, as he expressed it, 
he was pulled together by a pithy but effective re- 
mark of his superior officer. '^ Take care,^' he said ; 
'* you're forgetting Wellington, and the history and 
traditions of the army.'' There's many a lad who has 
been spurred to his best endeavor, and restrained 
from a mean or ignoble act, by the flashing across 
his mind of the name and figure of one of his heroes 
in history or in fiction. A man of science, who him- 
self did good work in physics, told me that, when- 
ever he scamped an experiment, he saw the grave, 
reproving eyes of Faraday fixed upon him. 



230 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS 

There is one influence on character and conduct of 
which I have not spoken, and of which I feel it diffi- 
cult to speak — the religious influence. It is a matter 
on which it is easy not to say the right thing — to say, 
rather, what may not be helpful, and may lead to 
misunderstanding, even if it do not give offence. I 
shall therefore content myself with one or two re- 
marks, with the object of bringing this influence into 
line with our mode of regarding the subject. First, 
let me say, then, that any great religion, worthy the 
name, presents a concrete personal embodiment of 
the ideal self. For the Christian, Christ is the type 
of the perfect self, and the imitation of Christ is a 
means to the attainment of self-realization. And for 
him Christ's teaching embodies, in essential outline, 
the fundamental relationships which characterize the 
ideal community. Until he learn the lesson that an- 
tagonistic self-assertion, or class assertion, must be 
subordinated to the mutual self-sacrifice which is 
necessary for co-operation, we shall never practically 
solve the social problems not only of our own time, 
but of all time. Secondly, I would say that the 
essence of religious teaching, in so far as it is in- 
fluential upon character and conduct, is rather the 
development of what we may term the religious atti- 
tude, than the formulation or acceptance of religious 
creeds. Assuming as granted the existence of a power 
or central activity, whether immanent or external, 
of which the world in which we live is the phenom- 
enal manifestation, I say that the essential feature 
of our relation to that power is not the intellectual 
attitude of accepting this or that formula, but the 
religious attitude of submission and humility ; of 



CHARACTER AND CONDUCT 231 

reverence of all that is noble, pure, and honorable, 
as the highest expression of God's will. For we 
clothe the conception of an energizing activity with 
our highest and most sublime ideals, and name Him, 
in humility and reverence, God. And when we en- 
deavor to realize our highest ideals of personal con- 
duct and jharacter in relation to our fellow-men, we 
do so, if the religious attitude is influential on con- 
duct, not only for their own sake, but as duties 
which are sanctioned by religion. 

Finally, let me once more say that our desire to 
lead a wise, right, and religious life must be inex- 
tricably inwoven into the mental background which, 
as we have seen, is the seat of the character. And 
let us remember that in every act of our lives, no 
matter how trivial, we are laying the foundation of 
all our future conduct. As Miss Edith Simcox has 
said, *^ Does it seem a trifling thing to say that in 
hours of passionate trial or temptation a man can have 
no better help than his own past ? Every generous 
feeling that has not been crushed, every wholesome 
impulse that has been followed, every just perception, 
every habit of unselfish action, will be present in 
the background to guide and to restrain. It is too 
late when the storm has burst to provide our craft 
with rigging fit to weather it ; but we may find 
a purpose for the years which oppress us by their 
dull calm, if we elect to spend them in laying up 
stores of strength and wisdom and emotional preju- 
dices of a goodly human kind, whereby, if need arises, 
we may be able to resist hereafter the gusts of pas- 
sion that might else bear us out of the straightfor- 
ward chosen course/' 



NOTES 

P. 15. "Generic idea." The reader may profitably ask 
himself how far the visual idea suggested by such a word 
as " primrose " is particular and how far generic. He may 
find that the word suggests the visual image of a primrose 
growing in a particular bed of a garden familiar in child- 
hood, and may be disposed to regard the image as particu- 
lar. But scarcely any two individual primrose flowers are 
exactly alike. If, however, the visual idea is, strictly 
speaking, particular, it is the representation of one par- 
ticular primrose flower. This is seldom the case. 

P. 19. "It results from . . . associated." The "first," 
" secondly," and " lastly " are not here intended to indicate 
necessarily the order of procedure in time. They serve to 
express what would seem to be a logical order of procedure. 

Pp. 44 and 153. In considering the nature of interest^ 
the statements on these two pages must be taken together. 
Even so they are no doubt inadequate. The reader should 
ask himself what are the psychological conditions of in- 
terest. 

That which has little or no connection with our experi- 
ence or knowledge possesses for us little or no interest. On 
the other hand, that which is so connected draws into the 
margin of consciousness, by suggestion, some of the re- 
presentative elements with which it is related. It forms 
the nucleus of a closely interrelated field of consciousness. 
This is the sense in w^iich the statement in the text on 
p. 44 is to be taken ; the statement on p. 153 indicating 
the accompaniment of emotional tone. On this foundation 
the reader should build by drawing from the stores of hia 
own experience. 

233 



234 NOTES 

P. 82. The distinction between quantity and number is 
perhaps unfamiliar, especially to those unacquainted with 
physics. The following quotation from Professor Clerk 
Maxwell's article " Atom" in the Encyclopcedia Britannica 
(ninth ed., vol. iii. p. 37), will serve to make it clearer. 
" It is probable that the first exact notions of quantity were 
founded on the consideration of number. It is by the help 
of numbers that concrete quantities are practically meas- 
ured and calculated. Now, number is discontinuous. We 
pass from one number [whole or fractional] to the nextpe?' 
saltum. The magnitudes, on the other hand, which we 
meet with in geometry, are essentially continuous." 
Though this distinction is by no means always carefully 
preserved, it should be clearly grasped. A line 5*55 inches 
long is continuous ; in measuring it we break it up (a mat- 
ter of distinguishing analysis, — see p. 100) into 5 units of 
one inch + 5 tenths of that unit, + 5 hundredths of the 
unit. The line is a continuous quantity, the measurement 
of which is expressed in numerical terms. 

Pp. 101, 104, 110. That conception and the formation of 
general ideas are fully conscious, intentional, and voluntary 
processes, will by some be regarded as open to question. No 
doubt there is a preconceptual stage, prior to the fully con- 
ceptual stage here described. No doubt the term general 
idea may be applied, loosely as I think, to the products of 
this earlier stage. It is, however, none the less true that 
the more perfect the concept, the more fully is it the result 
of a fully conscious process intentionally directed to the 
end of rendering it clear as a concept. In the process of 
development there probably, in many cases, intervenes be- 
tween the generic idea and the concept, the employment 
of the name for the generic idea used as a symbol, the full 
meaning of which is not realized until thought is, at a later 
period, focused upon it. 

P. 113. Whether we can form particular abstract ideas 
is perhaps open to discussion. Unquestionably it is often 
through the mental interference, so to speak, of many par- 
ticulars that some quality becomes more or less detached 
from others so as to be first predominant and eventually 



NOTES 235 

abstract. It may even be said that this is generally a fac- 
tor in the process by which abstract ideas are reached. But 
is it essential ? If, however, the statement in the text leads 
to introspective questioning, it will have served its pur- 
pose. 

P. 117. " We are not . . . concept circle." If we wish 
to give a generalized description, say of the dog, we either 
describe a particular dog taken as representative of his 
kind, or we describe what we regard as the distinctive 
characteristics of this kind of animal. In the former case 
we are describing a particular dog taken as the type ; in 
the latter we are, in effect, defining the species. 

P. 136. *' All laws are enactments," etc. This breaks the 
first rule of the syllogism, that there should be three terms 
only. For, since the word law is used in two senses, it 
stands for two terms, and there are four terms instead of 
three. Technically, therefore, this is a case of the " fallacy 
of four terms," and is an example of "the ambiguous 
middle." 

P. 143. In saying that "the background in which the 
object is set is, at any given moment, the representative of 
all the potentiality of the mind," the meaning is that the 
impression or idea, as focal nucleus, aggregates around 
itself, through suggestion, a number of interrelated re- 
presentative elements ; and that the nature of the back- 
ground so constituted is determined by the whole process 
of mental development — subject, of course, to the condi- 
tions of health and mental vigor of the moment in question. 

P. 148. " The emotions, then, ... the other." Nothing 
is here said concerning the part played by the psychical 
data afforded by the disturbed action of the heart, respira- 
tory organs, digestive organs, glands, and so forth, in pro- 
ducing the states of consciousness we term emotional. 
Their role in the primary genesis of emotional states is dis- 
cussed in chapter ix. of my work on Habit and Instinct. 
Any such discussion would here be out of place. 

P. 155. "It is that which in its varied phases is some- 
times termed insight,^' etc. The distinction between in- 
tuition and inference should be clearly grasped. In infer- 



236 NOTES 

ence the logical relations are rendered explicit ; in intuition 
they remain implicit. The former is a fully conscious 
process as such ; in the latter the process, as such, is sub- 
conscious. The results of the two processes may, however, 
be similar. 

P. 170. The relation of the word, such as an abstract 
noun, to the concept is one which the reader should care- 
fully think out for himself. Such a word may be regarded 
as a centre or nucleus of divergent conceptual association. 
The concept is thus largely a matter of mental background, 
and is often rather potential than actual ; that is to say, we 
do not pause to unfold the conceptual implications. One 
may go so far as to say that it is impossible fully to realize 
a concept in a single moment of consciousness. It is like a 
check or draft which can be cashed if there is money in 
the bank to meet the demand. The question may be asked : 
Is there always present to the mind an impression or a 
sense-idea, such, for example, as the word "triangle" or 
the symbol a , as a nucleus of the concept ? 



INDEX. 



Abstract ideas, 19, 21, 113. 

Abstraction, 112 ; relfttion of, to 
analysis and generalization, 113. 

Activitv-feelings, 145. 

.Esthetic tone, 158, 198. 

Analysis, 3, 49, 72 ; dissociating, 93 ; 
distinguishing, 94 ; nature of, 94 ; 
subjective, 96 ; relation to per- 
ception, 97 ; in spelling and pro- 
nunciation, 99 ; relation of ab- 
straction to, 112 ; of sentences, 
172. 

Anger, emotional tone of, 146, 147. 

Angles, quantitative perception of 
their value, 84. 

Appreciation in literature, 185-186, 
197. 

Apprehension, 119. 

Approbation and disapprobation, 

Art-work of literature and science, 
205. 

Articulation, 195. 

Artist, function of, 225. 

Artistic temperament, 222. 

Association, laws of, 26; contiguity, 
26 ; divergent and convergent, 
33 ; similarity and resemblance, 
38, 157 ; influence of marginal 
conditions, 43 ; simultaneous, 44. 

Assumption involved in definition 
of natural law, 122. 

At-sight reading, 197. 

Attention, 4, 10, 45 ; divided, 11. 

Attraction of gravitation defined, 
123. 

Automatic actions, 50. 

Automatism, inherited, 61, 67 ; 
secondary, 61, 68. 

Background, mental, 48 ; the seat 
of the character, 142 ; infiuence 
of, in aesthetics, 199 ; relational 
nature of, 206 ; influence of, on 
character and conduct. 226. 

Balance, experiments with, 127. 

" Because " symbolic of logical re- 
lation, 117. 

Blackmore, Mr. R. D., quoted, 195. 



Body and mind compared, 138. 

Botany, value of, for analysis, 95 ; 
for apprehension and descrip- 
tion, 125. 

Browning, Robert, quoted, 194, 
199, 227, 228. 

Character and conduct, 212. 

Chemistry, value of, 127. 

Classification, 80, 111. 

Cognition, 23, 145 ; in literary ap- 
preciation, 197. 

Coleridge quoted, 205. 

Communication, indicative, 161 ; 
descriptive, 162. 

Community, the ideal, 216. 

Composition, 173. 

Comprehension, 119. 

Concept, 22; relatiflp of, to percept, 

Conception, 20, 102 ; relation of, to 
perception, 103, 105 ; to knowl- 
edge, 106 ; and quantitative re- 
lations, 106. 

Conclusion of syllogism, 133. 

Conclusions, jumping to, 159. 

Conduct and character. 212. 

Consciousness, state of, 2; focus 
and margin of, 4. 

Consentience, 78. 

Contiguity, law of, 26. 

Control, 50, 52, 58 ; essentially 
motor, 148, 150 ; in conduct, 214. 

Co-ordination, 51, 58, 67, 70. 

Correlation, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 60, 67. 

Cramming, 141. 

Crucial observation or experiment, 
129. 

Dates, value of, 182. 

Deduction, 135. 

Definition, 111 ; and description, 

Demonstration, 151. 

Description, involves particular re- 
lations, 116 ; and definition, 117 ; 
involves analysis, 119 ; precursor 
to explanation, 123 ; relation of, 
to observation, 124, 126, 154, 



238 



INDEX. 



Desire, ideal self an object of, 215. 

Development, mental and bodily, 
analogous, 138 ; should be all- 
round, 141. 

De Vere, Aubrey (the younger), 
quoted, 212. 

Diagrammatic repres e n t a t i o n , 
method of, 177. 

Direction, sense of, 7. 

Disapprobation, 221. 

Discontent a spur to endeavor, 151. 

Distance element in vision, 54. 

Distinguishing analysis, 93 ; rela- 
tion of, to abstraction, 112. 

Dread, emotional tone of, 148. 

Duty, 210. 

Ear, appeal of literature to the, 
193. 

Earth, rotation of, proved, 130. 

Earth-moon system, rotation of, 
illustrated, 129. 

Education begins in nursery, 160. 

Elocution, 186, 194. 

Emotional aspect of consciousness, 
146 ; tone, 146 ; gesthetic, 198. 

Examination in literature, what it 
tests, 188. 

Example and precept, 224. 

Expectations, 29. 

Experience, 49, 56, 68, 76; subjective 
and objective aspect of, 72 ; and 
abstract thought, 113. 

Experiment, nature of, 126 ; cru- 
cial, 129. 

Explanation involves generaliza- 
tion, 117 ; nature of, 118 ; involves 
analysis, 119 ; not ultimate, 121 ; 
involves assumptions, 123 ; rela- 
tion of, to description and ob- 
servation, 126. 

Exposition, description and ex- 
planation in, 123. 

Eye-movements of value in esti- 
mating length, 83, 177. 

Faculty, 18. 

Fallacies, 136. 

Feeling, 145. 

Field, of touch, 53 ; of vision, 53 ; 
of experience, 55. 

Focus of consciousness defined, 4 : 
differentiation from margin pre- 
paratory to analysis, 94. 

Foreign languages, study of, 174. 

Foucault's pendulum, 131. 

French and German, 175. 

Games, value of, 64, 153. 
General ideas, 101. 
Generalization, 20, 100. 
Generic ideas. 15, 88, 110. 
Geography, value of, las. 



Geology as descriptive, 124. 

Geometry, 177. 
German and French, 175. 
Good form, 225. 
Grammar, 172. 
Graphic method, 181. 
Gravitation, 121, 122. 
Greek, value of, 175. 

Habit, 61. 

Harmony in literature, 198. 

Hero-worship, 226. 

History, value of, 181, 225. 

" How " attitude, 154. 

How ? requires descriptive answer, 

115. 
Hypotheses, nature of, 129. 



Ideal, literary, 202 ; social, 217, 218; 
self, 215 ; community, 218. 

Idealism in literature, 190. 

Ideas of sense defined, 12, 66 ; of 
relation, 17, 89 ; generic, 6, 38 ; 
abstract, 19 ; general, 101, 102. 

Imagination, 48, 155 ; creative, 156, 
158, 189 ; receptive, 186, 189 ; ac- 
tive and passive, 189 ; artistic, in- 
ventive, and scientific, 189. 

Imitation, 151. 

Impression defined, 5, 66; of special 
senses, 6 ; motor, 7 ; internal, 9 ; 
of direction, 7 ; of relation, 17, 89. 

Impulse, sympathetic, 221 ; im- 
pulsive activity, 150, 213. 

Indicative communication, 161. 

Individuality, 189. 

Induction, 135. 

Inexplicable observations, value 
of, 169. 

Information, 152. 

Inheritance, 56, 58 ; what we in- 
herit, 143. 

Innate tendencies, 145. 

Insight, 155. 

Inspiration, 155. 

Instinctive activities, 144. 

Instruction in skill, 151. 

Intellectual process, sesthetic tone, 
associated with, 199. 

Interaction of perception and 
analysis, 97 ; of perception and 
conception, 105, 109, 118 ; of ob- 
servation, apprehension, and 
comprehension, 126. 

Interest, 44, 153. 

Interpretation of nature, literary 
and scientific, 204. 

Inter-relation of knowledge, 169. 

Introspection, 2, 71 ; deals with 
past experience, 77 ; and subject- 
ive analysis, 96. 

Intuition, 155. 

Intuitive procedure. 158. 



INDEX. 



239 



Judgment, nature of, 199, 202, 221 ; 
logical and literary, compared, 

203 ; on character, 215. 

Kindergarten, 164. 
Knowledge, in what it consists, 
106, 169. 

Language, atmosphere of, 160 ; a 
symbolic expression of thought, 
166 ; the medium of the com- 
munication of knowledge, 170; 
of literature, 171 ; of science, 
171 ; foreign, study of, 174. 

Latin, value of, 174. 

Laws of nature generalizations and 
definitions, 122. 

Learning by rote, 34. 

Lever, experiments with, 127. 

Literature, 185 ; and science, 192, 

204 ; varieties of, 192 ; as afford- 
ing ideals of conduct, 225. 

Localization in space, 183 ; localiza- 
tion in time, 182. 

Logic the afterthought to insight, 
158. 

Logical relations, 131 ; perceived 
and conceived in reasoning, 136. 

Lowell quoted, 186, 190. 

Macaulay quoted, 200. 

Mannerism to be avoided, 195 

Margin of consciousness defined, 4; 
correlation effected in, 57; dif- 
ferentiation of focus from, pre- 
paratory to analysis, 94. 

Mathematics, 176. 

Meaning and significance, 169. 

Melody in literature, relations in- 
volved in, 198. 

Melody of prose, 195. 

Memory, 25. 

Mind and body compared, 138. 

Ministry of teacher, aims of, 210. 

Moon, swing of, round the earth 
illustrated, 129 

Moral motives, 218. 

Motives of conduct, 214. 

Motor impressions, 7 ; ideas, 13. 

Movement for vision and for motor 
sensation correlated, 54. 

Mozart quoted, 201 

Natxjral law, generalizations from 
experience and definitions, 122. 

Natural synthesis, 53, 139. 

Nature, interpretation of, literary 
and scientific, 204. 

Neighbor, duty to, 219. 

Numerical relations, 82. 

Object in psychology, 74, 77. 
Objective aspect of experience, 72, 



Observation, relation of, to de- 
scription, 124. 126, 154 ; and ex- 
planation, 126 1 crucial. 129 ; 
necessary both in literature and 
science, 209. 

Organic conditions, of memory, 26; 
of consciousness, 139, 143. 

Pain, 147. 

Pendulum, experiment with, 138 ; 
Foucault's, 131. 

Percept, 22, 91, 99 ; relation of, to 
concept, 108. 

Perception, 17, 69, 74 ; compound, 
85; training of, 79; deals with 
particular relations, 89 ; relation 
of, to analysis, 98 ; to conception, 
103, 105 ; to knowledge, 106. 

Physics, value of, 127. 

Pictures and association, 31 ; as a 
means of communication, 163. 

Pity, emotional tone of, 147. 

Pleasure and pain, 147. 

Poetry, its suggestive nature, 207. 

Precept and example, 224. 

Predicate of proposition, 132. 

Predominance in analysis, 95; in 
perception, 97. 

Predominant leading up to ab- 
stract ideas, 21. 

Premises of syllogism, 133. 

Presentative and re-presentative 
defined, 12, 66. 

Promptings of impulse, 214. 

Pronunciation, correlations in, 70 ; 
analysis of, 99. 

Proposition, nature of, 132 ; of 
syllogism described, 133. 

Provincialism and mannerism to be 
avoided, 195. 

Prudential motives, 218. 

Psychological import of subjects 
commonly taught, 172. 

Psychology defined, 2. 

Punishment, 37. 

Quantitative relations, 81. 

Rational, what determines when 
the child becomes, 138-155. 

Reading aloud, 187 ; and writing, 
165. 

Realism in literature, 191. 

Reason, the ballast to imagination, 
1.58. 

Reason and reasoning defined, 136. 

Receptivity, 152. 

Recitation, importance of, 186. 

Recollection, 2G ; the art of, 45. 

Record-scrolls for time localiza- 
tion, 183. 

Reflection, 77, 102. 

Reflex actions, 50. 



240 



INDEX. 



Relations, 17, 75 ; quantitative, 81 ; 
numerical, 82 ; logical, 117 ; emo- 
tional tone associated with, 198. 

Religious attitude, 230. 

Religious influence, 230. 

Remembrance, 26. 

Re-presentative defined, 12, 66. 

Resemblance, suggestion by, 38. 

Retentiveness, 26. 

Retrospection, 78. 

Reverie, nature of, 48. 

Rewards and punishments, 36. 

Right, 219. 

Rotation of earth, Foucault's cru- 
cial experiment, 130. 

Science, in mental training, 189 ; 
and literature, 191, 204. 

Scientism, 206. 

Self, the ideal, 215. 

Self -consistence in the products of 
the imagination, 158. 

Self-control, 149, 151. 

Sencept, 22, 91, 144. 

Sensation and sensations, 17. 

Sense of direction, 7. 

Sense-experience, 17, 78 ; relation 
of, to perception, 99 ; to knowl- 
edge, 106 ; to percept and con- 
cept, 109. 

Sense-fading, 24, 25 ; value of, in 
perceiving time-relations, 87. 

Sense-ideas, 13. 

Sense-impressions, 6. 

Sensing, as a technical term, 78. 

Shakespeare quoted, 201. 

Significance, direct and indirect, 
168. 

SiMCox, Miss Edith, quoted, 231 . 

Similarity, suggestion by, 38, 157. 

Similarity and dissimilarity, 80. 

Skill, 10, 52, 60, 62, 66. 

Slojd, value of, 63, 83. 

Snubbing, 159. 

Social ideal, defined. 204 ; of con- 
duct, 219, 222. 

Social influence, 212. 

Space, localization, 183. 

Space-relation, perception of 
linear, 83 ; superficial area, 85 ; 
cubical volume, 86. 

Spelling, analysis and synthesis of, 
32, 99. 

Spelling reforms, 100. 

Standard, literary or ideal, 202. 

Stimuli, 50. 

Subconscious elements, 4 ; correla- 
tion, 57, 70. 



Subject in psychology, 74 ; of pro- 
position, 132. 

Subjective analysis, 96. 

Subjective aspect of experience, 
72, 76. 

Suggestion, by resemblance, 38 ; by 
contrast, 39 ; by similarity, 40 ; 
in poetry, 40 ; in science, 41. 

Suspense, figure of, 200. 

Syllogism, 133. 

Sympathetic impulses, 221, 224. 

Sympathy, 36, 220. 

Synthesis, mental, involuntary, 
53 ; natural, 139 ; as the comple- 
ment to analysis, voluntary, 99. 

Teacher, office of the, 140, 210, 222. 

Technical instruction, value and 
danger of, 206. 

Technical terms, 171. 

Tennyson quoted, 40, 41. 185, 190, 
202. 

Terms, technical, 171. 

"Therefore" symbolic of logical 
relation, 117 ; dependent on uni- 
formity of nature, of thought, 
and of terminology, 135. 

Thought, involves conception, 105 ; 
and experience, 113 ; unity of, 
169. 

Time-localization, 169. 

Time-relations, perception of, 86 ; 
translated into space-relations, 
89. 

Tradition, oral and pictorial, 164. 

Transitions in consciousness, 16, 76. 

Understanding, 119. 
Uniformity of nature, 135 ; of 
thought, and of terminology, 135. 

Vision, field of, motor elements in, 

58. 
Volition, 149. 

Watson, Mr. Wm., quoted, 207. 

Whitman quoted, 196. 

"Why" attitude, 154. 

Why? requires explanatory 
answer, 115. 

Will, the, 58, 149, 152. 

Words, association of, with impres- 
sions, 30 ; for relations perceived 
and conceived the same, 104, 108, 
109 ; an aid to classification. 111 ; 
and sencepts, 160. 

Wordsworth quoted, 197, 201. 

Written record, 165. 



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